


Somewhere West of Winter (A Tom Hiddleston-Inspired Original Novel)

by macpetreshock



Category: Original Work, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Adult Situations, Angst, Angst and Humor, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, British Character, Dating, Developing Relationship, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Humor, Inspired by Tom Hiddleston, Language, Love, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Non-Explicit, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Relationship(s), Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Tom Hiddleston dream cast as main character, Tom Hiddleston fancast as West Winters, tom hiddleston - Freeform, tom hiddleston fancast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macpetreshock/pseuds/macpetreshock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>International superstar, Hollywood’s hottest British actor, and voted the Sexiest Man Alive, it seems everyone wants West Winters or wants to be him… except West Winters.</p><p>When West takes off on an unauthorized hiatus from his micromanaged life and public persona to hide away in Featherrock, Kentucky’s isolated Deer Lake Resort Community after wrapping his latest film, dropping the act that has become West's life changes everything. No one in the small population of this rural town pays any mind to summer renters at the lake, except the real estate agents managing the property. Time spent just being himself leads to reflections, revelations, and unexpected relationships when West pursues the instant chemistry between him and realtor Jamie Douglas, despite the many challenges attempting to romance her presents.</p><p>Is leaving the persona of West Winters somewhere behind him the secret to happiness or the unraveling of his carefully groomed rise to fame?</p><p>SOMEWHERE WEST OF WINTER is a completely original fiction work inspired by Tom Hiddleston with Tom “dream cast” in the role of West Winters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 

*West*

 

 

Driving away that day was everything I needed, though it came with decisions both simple and immeasurably difficult, potentially life-altering. Yet nothing I found at my destination was as I expected.

Yes, I found peace and quiet, a break from the hectic pace, the constant push and pull my life had become. I knew what I wanted to find, what I hoped to find, what I _needed_ to find, the entire point of the venture. However, the greatest challenge I faced was not the one I’d struggled with for so long it led me to seek such refuge in the first place.

I’d always believed myself to be a man who lived his life to the fullest, lived in the moment, and took nothing for granted. Or so I thought. Somewhere along the way, I began living life on the tightly knit schedule prepared by someone else, doing as I was told.

Smile for the camera, West. Turn this way, West. Speak to these people, West. Go here. Go there. Say this. Don’t say that.

Don’t take that role you want. The director’s had dodgy press lately.

Take this role of absolutely no interest. It’s sure to be a blinding success, and you need the publicity.

And bloody hell, West, don’t be yourself. Don’t be so childish. You’ll cock up your reputation.

But in the break from all of that, I found a greater challenge than keeping up false pretenses. In that small town, tucked safely away from the paparazzi and hordes of fans, I was myself. I lived in the moment.

And she challenged me not to let that go again.

 

 

*Jamie*

 

 

I always said the puppy dog look didn’t work on men with light colored eyes, and I had yet to find a blue-eyed man to prove me wrong despite what Julie said. Of course, she kept sending me those stupid invites to Pinterest, telling me, ‘but you have to see this guy,’ and I kept deleting them. I knew how many hours my sister wasted down that rabbit hole. No, thank you. My name’s not Alice, and Pinterest was never my idea of Wonderland anyway.

At least, that was all true.

Life has a way of making a liar out of you, a way of proving you wrong, a way of turning everything you thought you knew upside down and making you dizzy. One day, a blue-puppy-dog-eyed man may look at you and make your heart skip a beat.

And somewhere in a small town west of Lexington, in the middle of a humid Kentucky summer, winter stole my breath away.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

 

*West*

 

 

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Winters? Did I forget something?” A small wave of panic rose in her voice as she flipped through pages in her ever-handy notepad. “I swear I followed every detail of Mr. Sutton’s instructions. Lexington’s a tiny airport compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure, but you’re far less likely to encounter any paparazzi snapping your picture here than you are in Louisville. Definitely better than going through Cincy. … Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to carry your luggage? Should I have parked and walked in with you?”

“No. I’m sorry. No, of course not, Kim. … I’m not waiting for anything to be honest.” I smiled politely at the petite blonde assistant who’d been at my side throughout the past two months of filming. “I’m just a bit knackered. I’ll be fine.”

It was not wholly truthful yet not a complete lie either. I had grown tired indeed, leading to the reason she couldn’t come with me, couldn’t assist me with anything, and I wanted her to drop me curbside and bugger off, not asking further questions.

“I’ve got it. Don’t trouble yourself anymore with me. You’ve done too much already, Kim. You have my apologies. I can’t thank you enough for your patience.”

She blushed as I exited the car and quickly gathered my luggage, leaving an envelope of money in its place. Kim would undoubtedly bear some blame from my manager for my following actions, though she knew nothing of my plans, and I could only hope when she found the gift I left her, it would somehow make amends for the trouble I caused.

Kim was correct. Lexington’s Bluegrass Regional Airport may as well have been deserted, though I suspected late Tuesday mornings weren’t exactly peak travel hours. With the aid of the University of Kentucky Wildcats cap Kim gifted me and a pair of sunglasses, as well as the typical camouflage of my laptop bag, garment bag, check-in luggage, and carry-on, no one seemed to notice me at all.

A quick glance behind me proved Kim had gone. Finally, I was left to my own devices, able to execute the madness of the plan I’d hatched, so unlike me, secretive and rather devious. No one would know until I’d done it, until it was too late. I would no longer be ‘handled’ like a child in need of guidance.

There I stood, the ticketing desk straight ahead. I could step up, check in for my flight per usual … or not.

“Can I help you, sir?”

A deep breath bolstered my courage. “Actually, I’m not flying today. Sorry. But you could direct me toward car rentals, please.”

“Oh, no problem. It’s right over there.” She kindly pointed across the way.

“Thank you very much. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You too, sir.”

Had I bothered to look around me, I would have seen the sign. I’d quickly come to the conclusion that had I flown out of Lexington, I could’ve seen everything there was to see in its airport and committed it to memory in the one trip.

Thankfully, its quaint simplicity was what I found most appealing, as that would be the defining trait of my surroundings for the coming months.

“Good morning, sir. Do you have a reservation with us today?”

The man behind the counter eyed me with the careful suspicion I’d grown used to in recent years. He recognized me but wasn’t prepared to say anything for fear he might be mistaken. There would be no way to play it off as if he were wrong in this situation.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but I need to sort out renting a car for three months.” I set down all my bags, retrieved my license and AmEx, set them on the counter, and took off my sunglasses. “And I’d appreciate if this matter would stay quiet, not find its way onto the internet and such, Chris.”

I long ago learned how handy name badges could be in smoothing over such awkward encounters. If someone recognized me, and I immediately referred to them by name, recognized them as a person, I became less of an almighty celebrity and somehow more human.

Max always hated it. I was supposed to be his untouchable golden child.

“I can do that, Mr. Winters. … Mr. Wintersfield,” he corrected after looking at my license. “My apologies. I forgot about that, you know, but I guess you’re used to it being an actor and all, always being somebody else.”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“Hm. Okay. Well, three months? Let me see.” He tapped on his keyboard, entering in my information, asking a few questions, though the general process was far easier than I had expected. To be honest, I’d never rented a car before and hadn’t thought doing so in the US would be such a piece of cake. “I have a limited selection of luxury cars available at the moment, but hopefully we can find something you’ll be satisfied with, Mr. Wintersfield.”

“Actually, I’d prefer something … else, something inexpensive.” I sighed and came clean. “What car do you have that you’d least expect to find me in? That’s the one I want.”

Chris nodded and grinned. “Gotcha. I think I’ve got the perfect car for you. If anyone sees you in this, they’ll think they’re hallucinating before they’ll believe it’s really you. But it’s got some nice features, USB hook up for your iPod and stuff like that, so it’s not painfully basic.”

“Thank you, Chris. That sounds quite lovely.”

A matter of minutes later, the paperwork was complete, and I had the keys to a Chevy Spark. I’d never heard of a Chevy Spark, but Chris assured me it was the perfect car for what I wanted, and I thanked him by autographing the itinerary Kim had printed for me and posing for a selfie with him.

He swore he would say nothing until I returned the car in October, and for some reason, I believed him.

“Hey, man, I mean, Mr. Wintersfield,” he said, stopping me before I walked away.

“Just call me West. It’s fine.”

“Sure thing, West. I was just going to say, I don’t know what the deal is with you being here for three months, and I’m not asking you to explain, but I get the impression that maybe it’s not exactly for business and not really a vacation with friends. So I’m just gonna put it out there that since you might not have much of anyone around these parts to talk to, if you feel like grabbing a beer sometime or anything, here’s my number.” He handed me a Post-It note with his name and number quickly scrawled across it. “Not saying I expect you to call or anything, but just whatever, man.”

“I appreciate this. You never know. Maybe I will call. Have a good day, Chris, and thank you again. For everything.”

I don’t know what I expected from a car called a Spark, but when I found it in the parking garage, I was momentarily tempted to drop my luggage, lie on the ground, and see if it truly were much longer than I am tall when stretched out with my arms over my head. Unfortunately, I’d grown a tad concerned about time, so I didn’t. Drawing unnecessary attention to myself wouldn’t have been wise either, but the idea I had gotten that far into my plan without faltering yet had me a tad giddy.

Another read-through of the email from Ms. Douglas confirmed the time and address of our appointment, and I hoped Siri proved herself to be an excellent navigator, as I had nary a clue where I was headed.

Somewhere a stone’s throw away from nowhere was the plan. Somewhere no one would find me. Somewhere I could find what I was looking for. I hoped.

Some things in life don’t change of their own accord, and I was finished waiting.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

 

*Jamie*

 

 

“24-hour Snark Line. Please hold, and the next available operator will sass your ass. If you've called to bitch, whine, or moan, please hang up and don't even bother to call back... What do you want, sis? And yes, I did remember to pick up another bottle of mango vodka, but they were out of lemons, and I didn't feel like going to Kroger. Maybe you can swipe some from the bar tonight when Trent's not looking, or when he is. I don't care either way, as long as the tequila has lemons.”

“Where are you?”

“In my car.” I could hear her exasperated sigh even over the growl of my Mustang’s 428 as I downshifted around a sharp turn at the bottom of a steep hill.

“Yeah, well I’d like to be in mine on the way to my appointment at the Stamper cabin, but the alternator went out. For Christ’s sake, Jamie, can you turn down the stereo? I can barely hear myself think.”

“Turn down GNR? Me thinks your alternator is not the only thing that’s gone out. I’m about ten minutes from the office, was going to finish up the paperwork on this offer for the Pennington estate, but I can head over to the lake first and take that appointment.” Not that splitting commission on a summer rental cabin was exciting, but it’s a sister thing, I guess.

“An offer? Like a worthwhile offer?”

With a dramatic flair, I replied, “Oh, yes. … Like solid sold, baby. They wanna close by the end of the month. Looks like we won’t be losing the contract to Dickhead Danny Dawson after all.” We both giggled, and I slowed through the stop sign, hanging a left toward the lake instead of heading into town and the office. “So who am I schmoozing at the Stamper place for you?”

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of specifics. He’s kind of evasive, and I’ve only talked to him through email, but he signs his emails as William, so just run with that.”

“Evasive, huh? Great. I’ll hold onto my pepper spray.”

Less than ten minutes later, I pulled into the small lot in front of the Deer Run Resort Community’s guard shack. There was only one car in the lot, presumably William’s, so I parked behind it. He didn’t appear to notice, too wrapped up in whatever tunes were blasting through his earbuds while he seriously got his groove on beside his tiny, gray Chevy Spark, which looked even smaller beside that guy. He had to be well over six foot tall, or maybe it was just his lean, lanky build giving that illusion.

Julie and I always had the phrase “Dance like nobody’s watching” painted across our kitchen wall, and I ventured a guess this William dude lived by the same ideology.

There was no hint he realized I was there until I stood right behind him, and he spun while singing, coming face-to-face with me. The embarrassed grin spread across his face, too adorable for words and belonging on a six-year-old, not a thirty-something man, but holy mother of fuck it looked amazing on him.

He scrambled to pull the earbuds out, mumbling apologies, fumbling with the iPod and cord until  he finally tossed it haphazardly through the car window, freeing his hands to run his fingers through his dark blond hair as he dropped his chin to his chest, removed his sunglasses, and looked at me with guilty blue eyes.

Puppy dog eyes. Blue, puppy dog eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Douglas. I arrived far too early, and um… to be quite honest, I got bored. I apologize. I didn’t want to inconvenience you and call, asking you to meet me earlier.” Shrugging, a huge smile spread across his face. “I found a way to entertain myself in the meantime.”

That velvety voice, its depth, and all its Britishness. Yum. I wanted to keep him talking.

“Well, I’m just a bit late too, probably because I’m the other Ms. Douglas, Julie’s twin sister Jamie. She had some car trouble and asked me to fill in, but don’t worry, her listing or not, I’ve shown it more often. I promise my services will not disappoint, William.”

The huge smile gave way to a small impish grin. “I am quite sure you won’t. … And thank you.” I’m not sure how I earned the fraction of a second when his tone teetered on the edge of forlorn, his grin turning to a frown so momentarily I almost missed it, but it was there and gone. I knew I didn’t imagine it. “But now that we’ve met, you may call me West like everyone else. I’m sorry for misleading your sister, and by default you in my emails. I simply wanted to keep this matter quiet before I arrived.”

Wait. What? West? William. West. Tall, lean, blue-eyed, handsome, British, not a total asshole. Holy mother of fuck.

“William West Wintersfield? West Winters? Shit. You’ve got to be kidding me. We just watched _Night of the Velociraptor_ last weekend. I mean, it sucked. Total B horror flick, but fuck. You were in it.”

It couldn’t be happening. Nothing so interesting happened in Featherrock, Kentucky, population 877.

“Well, I am very sorry it failed to meet your approval, but I heard _Revenge of the Velociraptor_ was far better, though I wasn’t in that one. I’d already committed to filming _Our Second Lives_ at the time. Perhaps my absence is what improved the sequel.”

His sheepishly self-deprecating grin was too much, and I replied with a stupid smile, still shell-shocked the hottest commodity in Hollywood was standing there talking to me like any other real estate client.

Shit. Real estate. That’s why I was there. I met West Winters to talk real estate rental.

“So, you’re looking into renting here for the summer?” That seemed more than a tad bit ludicrous. “Did you look at the website or do any research about Deer Run before calling Julie?”

“Of course,” he replied defensively before the sheepishness returned. “Some … A little. Alright. I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time. The listing seems quite nice, and the location is a relatively short distance from where I just wrapped filming. Honestly, I’m taking a few months off, and I want a secluded getaway, someplace out of the ordinary.”

Far be it from me to turn down a commission, but Star Magazine reported West got paid fifteen million dollars for the film he had just wrapped. My reputation wasn’t built on selling lies to clients. “Deer Run may be referred to as a resort community, gated for privacy with a monitored guard shack at its single entry point, but let me be up front, West. By “resort community,” they mean a collection of not overly shoddy, and a couple just shy of being condemned, forty to fifty-year-old houses, cabins, and a few trailers scattered around a poor excuse for a lake that isn’t even big enough for waterskiing. The “guard” on duty? That would be Helen, who just had quite a 75th birthday bash down at the senior center last month.”

“For three months at $1500 rent, no questions asked, I didn’t expect a luxurious lakefront property. In fact, off the grid so-to-speak was rather what I was hoping for.”

“Oh, great, then you’re in luck. You’ve practically fallen off the face of the planet. Satellite service is sketchy at best, highest speed internet happens on days that don’t end in ‘y,’ and for a great cell signal, try balancing on your deck railing while imitating a flamingo. Be sure to raise your arm in the air really high and hope your speaker phone works well.” I smirked at him, a friendly smirk, but I _was_ only half kidding. “But don’t worry, the cabin you’re interested in comes with an old-fashioned landline, and I do mean old-fashioned. Like, it’s a rotary phone and everything.”

“It sounds charming.” He was irritatingly positive. “Shall we take a look?”

I had no doubt he’d love the burnt orange shag rug and avocado kitchen appliances. The whole authentic 70s décor really was something to behold. “Sure. Just follow me,” I called over my shoulder as I headed back to my car.

West Winters. Damn. I wanted to call Julie, but I wasn’t kidding about cell service out there. Once we passed through the gates, it became a wireless abyss.

Revving the engine to life, I whipped around his car, amused by seeing him wave at me like a little kid as I passed. Geez, he was no different in person than I’d seen him in a few recent TV interviews. I shook my head and waved at Helen as she raised the gate for us to enter. Public persona was public persona, and I wasn’t about to get caught up in his well known hot and cold temperament. I’d do the rental deal, and leave him to do whatever famous handsome actors did, style his hair or maintain that perfect oh-I-just-haven’t-bothered-to-shave stubble. That was the plan. Fame, celebrity, paparazzi? Oh, hell no. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

But damn he had nice eyes and such an adorable smile.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

 

*West*

 

 

“As the listing stated, the cabin is fully furnished, including dishes and such in the kitchen and fresh linens. You also have a washer and dryer on site, right here.” She pulled open a bi-fold door in the kitchen, revealing a stacked laundry unit, and I nodded. “Believe me, West. You should be much more impressed by that. The other option would be driving the fifteen miles into town to use Aunt Stella’s Laundromat, which is only open Tuesdays and Thursdays, ten to four, and Saturdays from nine to one.”

“Your aunt owns it?”

“No. That’s the name of the place.”

“Oh. I’m so very sorry. I just assumed …” I’m not quite sure what I dared assume there. Clearly, I’d taken to foreign territory with nary a clue what I was doing. “I do apologize, Ms. Douglas.”

“Please, that sounds too formal. I’d rather you call me Jamie,” she remarked as she crossed the kitchen nearer to me.

“My apologies, Jamie. I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”

“You do that a lot. … Too much, West.” She responded to my puzzlement before I had an opportunity to question her. “Apologize. I don’t even know how many times you’ve said you’re sorry for something just since I met you.”

“Oh my, well then, I’m—” Her fingertip on my lips hushed me.

“Not again. Swallow the words. Choke on them if you must, but for Christ’s sake, stop with the ‘I’m sorry’ stuff.”

The oddly sweet scent of her finger quite distracted from the stern what-for she gave, and the moment she moved off, I licked my lips curiously. Indeed, there was a faintly delicious taste of sugar biscuits left behind.

“All the appliances are in working order, at least last I checked, though I can’t make any guarantees regarding their efficiency. As you can see, they’re not what you’d call modern by any stretch of the imagination.” Jamie continued on in the same relatively professional but congenial manner as before, no indication the momentary exchange, the touch, had any particular meaning, any signals for me to read. “Through here is the bedroom. … You’ll be pleased to know it has a window A/C unit, but I’m sorry to say a full-size bed is the best you’re getting for sleeping arrangements unless you’d like to stretch out on that lovely rustic, floral, velour sofa. The Four Seasons, this isn’t.”

Peeking around at the simple, homey furnishings, I nodded again. “It’s quite cozy.”

A wide, perhaps devilish grin spread across her face. “Cozy. Mhmm. Let me show you the bathroom.”

Directly across from the bedroom, she pushed open another door and grasped at a chain dangling from the ceiling. “Are you ready?” I nodded, which had become my standard response, unsure what to say to the myriad of unusual sights the cabin tour revealed. Jamie pulled the chain, revealing the sunshine-bright yellow space the size of an average broom closet, perhaps a tad larger. “The trick to closing the door is to step inside the tub to make room, unless you prefer to climb on top of the toilet. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

I ventured inside, taking a quick look, and saw she was quite serious.

I did want off-the-grid, and certainly, no one would have suspected to find _West Winters_ here. But alas, I did believe that place was exactly what _William Wintersfield_ needed.

Stepping in the tub, I spun, and threw out my arms dramatically, smacking my hand on the wall, and continued grinning, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt in the least. “It’s perfect. I’ll take it. The requested cash-only rent is in my car. Where do I sign?”

Jamie shook her head. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to do this today, so the paperwork is at the office. You’ll have to follow me into town, which isn’t really a bad thing. You’ll need to know where that is anyway since it’s the only relative form of civilization within an hour of this place.”

“Tally ho then.” She seemed ill-convinced of my convictions but turned and led the way out of my soon-to-be summer home.

 

 

***

 

 

The streets were barren of people in the idyllic sleepy town, and I forwent the usual baseball cap in favor of simple sunglasses as a means to hide. Somehow, I doubted anyone who might be out would recognize me, or believe it was me for that matter. I didn’t particularly belong there, though I suppose the question of where it is I did belong exactly left me without an answer.

“Pretty much everything you might need is here in one of these shops around the town square, and except for the café, the center of town is basically closed down on Wednesdays and Sundays and runs limited hours on Saturdays.” Jamie began explaining the foreign land the moment I exited my rental car, and I tried keeping up with everywhere she waved her finger. “Over there’s the laundromat I mentioned before, if you need it for anything. She does do dry cleaning, but I wouldn’t take anything high-end there unless you know you can replace it, just an FYI. The pharmacy, hardware store, appliance repair shop … not saying you’ll need any of those, but if I were you, I’d seriously keep in mind where to find them. Attorney’s office, insurance office, and newspaper office, none of which you should need. You’ll get more news from hanging out at Josie’s Café a few mornings a week than you will buying the local paper. Save your money. Anyway, our competitor’s office, the bank, Josie’s, the sheriff’s office, Styles by Miles … should you opt for a haircut that costs under twenty dollars, our office, the VFW hall, and an assortment of empty places, though over the course of three months, you might see something pop up. Never know.”

I took it all in, getting my bearings as best I could. “Are there any restaurants outside of town?”

“Maybe a handful of hole-in-the-wall places here and there. I’ll mark them on a little map we have inside for clients newer to the area.” Her smile was more of a smirk, and I believe she found me amusing. “Other than that, you saw the McDonald’s at the gas station we passed on the way here and the Save n’ Shop. If you’re determined to stay low-profile, I’d suggest you avoid anyplace in Lexington, stick to locally owned restaurants in Frankfort … or cook for yourself,” she laughed.

 Frowning, I bit my lip, unsure how I wanted to respond, how I should. “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent cook. Acting is not the only talent I have.” But the words came out more harshly than I intended, and instantly, I dropped my eyes to my feet for shame. “I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

With a quick turn, she walked away. “You and the ‘I’m sorries’ … O. M. G, West.”

I hurried to catch up with her at the office door as she unlocked it. “OMG? Really? What are you? Seventeen?” I teased, hoping for the best, lessening any tension created.

She shook her head and pushed the door open. “Hardly. Thirty-six and old enough to know that sometimes ‘OMG’ is simply the best expression for the situation. BTW …” She winked, and I grinned, relieved. “If you’re such a great cook, you should come over and play chef for Julie and me sometime. We’ll supply the booze.”

The normalcy of the invitation was wonderful, irresistible. “That sounds lovely.”

Jamie reached out, one fingernail tracing a button on my shirt, right at my chest, but my eyes remained riveted on her, the waves of loose, dark cherry curls that fell over her shoulders, lips slightly parted and turned up in the corners, naturally pink and full, and coppery brown eyes like worn pennies, full of untold tales.

“Lovely? Hm. That’s a stretch, considering we just met. I could be hell on wheels and more trouble than I’m worth, you know.”

I’d seen the way she drove that Mustang. Hell on wheels was a given. As for being more trouble than she was worth, I supposed that depended on what I determined her personal value to me to be. And as it were, every moment I spent with Jamie caused that to rise rather inexplicably.

She wasn’t my type. She couldn’t be. She was too … everything.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

 

*Jamie*

 

 

“… then he said, ‘That sounds lovely.’ All Britishy, and yeah, he’s definitely not what I would have expected if I had a fucking clue you were sending me to meet West Winters.” I picked a piece of spaghetti out of the colander and tossed it in her hair.

“Bitch, stop throwing shit at me. It’s not like I knew.” Julie scowled as she untangled the pasta from her natural curls. “If I did, I woulda walked to the appointment, not sent you.”

“Well, your luck sucks, and you fail at life, Jules.” Returning the spaghetti to the pot, I dumped a jar of Ragu in, mix, and served it up on paper plates. “He’s nothing like you’d think for some Hollywood A-lister, not jaw-dropping, I-can’t-stop-drooling hot, more like really cute and adorably awkward.”

“So the whole adorkable thing he’s got going on recently isn’t just an act?” I shrugged in response. One could only assume, but who could really know. Worried more about food than the answer to her question, she sprinkled a shitload of parmesan cheese on hers and started shoveling it in quickly, glancing at the microwave’s clock. Swallowing, my three-minutes-older twin eyed me suspiciously. “You’re not thinking of trying to hook up with him are you?”

“Of course not!”

“What the fuck? Why not? What’s wrong with you?”

I threw my plate back on the counter. “Wait. You just said—”

“For Christ’s sake, do you seriously think I think you shouldn’t if he’s interested? I mean, God, Jamie, he’s West Fucking Winters. If he’s into it, get up on that.”

The front screen door slammed shut to the sound of cowboy boots entering the house. “Who’s getting’ up on what, or who?”

“Nothing, Trent.” Julie replied sweetly.

“Yep. Nobody, Trent.”

“And does this nobody have a name, date of birth, address, telephone number, social security number, aliases, identifying birthmarks or tattoos, and three personal references to give me if he wants to get within ten miles of you, Jamie Lea?”

Anyone else would have thought he was kidding, but every guy I’d tried to date since our senior year of high school when Trent first met Julie would say otherwise.

“No, seriously. This guy isn’t worth your time. He’s just some actor hiding out at Deer Run for whatever reason. Maybe doing a cleansing or, you know that stuff LA-types do.” Trent was clearly skeptical as he heaped his plate full. “Anyway, he’s only here for three months, so it’s not even worth it.”

“Uh huh. So nameless Hollywood motherfucker’s at the Stamper place. At least I know where to find his sorry ass.” With a quick smirk to me, he winked at Julie. “Toss me a fork, babe.” Of course, she did, and he caught it easily. Trent’s nothing if not smooth in every sense of the word, well, smooth, foul-mouthed, and the last person you ever wanted to piss off in this county. “I don’t care if he’s Bruce Motherfucking Willis. He lay one finger on you wrong, sonabitch be missin’ an arm.”

“I’m sure he will be. Bruce Willis, he definitely is not. West is British, and you know … all British-like.”

“A Limey. That’s interesting.” A derisive huff and short nod indicated the subject was closed for discussion in the world of Trent Headly. “Megan broke her ankle. Was helping Roger build a new deer stand and slipped off the ladder. Need you in tonight.”

Picking my plate back up, I pretended to ignore him, not that such a thing would ever work with my brother-in-law-in-every-way-short-of-marriage, but I wasn’t above trying it.

Trent annoyingly tickled my ear with the tip of one finger. “Come on. You know you want to.”

Julie stifled giggles. I scowled at her.

“No. I know _you_ want me to want to, but _my_ life doesn’t revolve around _your_ bar.”

“Oh, I’m sure it doesn’t,” he replied dismissively. “You’d rather stay home alone, drink vodka, and watch reruns of Hawaii Five-0, but I can’t be having that McGarrett prick getting crazy ideas in your head about what makes guys real men. I’d hate to have to beat his ass.”

“He’s a fictional character.”

Julie slumped over the island, laughing hysterically into her hands, looking like she was having a convulsive fit.

“You think I don’t know that? I’d have to kick that motherfucking Aussie actor’s ass to prove my point, and I don’t feel like flyin’ all over the world huntin’ his punk ass down. … Jesus Fucking Christ, why do you girls not have good music on in here? What is this shit playin’ tonight?” And just like that, Trent’s attention turned to our iHome stereo, searching for what he liked. “Ah… Here’s some Cheap Trick for my girls.”

The first line of “I Want You to Want Me” filled the kitchen, and he’d made his point. I caved. “Fucking hell, Trent. You win. I’ll come in.”

I would say he did a victory dance between the kitchen and living room, but no. It was just typical Trent.

 

 

***

 

 

A tight tank top, stupidly short jean shorts, cowboy boots, and more makeup to accentuate my eyes and lips, yep, I was as ready as I was going to get for the night.

And having one of those nights when I felt like I was getting too old to play Trent’s games, but like any other night, I knew once I got there, I’d have too much fun to care. That was the beauty of The Last Chance.

“Knock, knock.” Julie walked in my room without actually knocking.

“You do realize there’s a difference between saying the words and doing the knocking, right?”

“I just painted my nails. They’re still drying. That’s not the point of why I’m here though.” She plopped down on the bed while I tried to figure out what to do with my wild mane of hair. “You think West’ll show up tonight.”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot to do around here. And he can’t have met too many people yet, so why wouldn’t he want to come see what you’re up to?”

I sighed as I pulled my hair into a high ponytail for the night. “Reasonable logic except for the fatal flaw that I didn’t tell him about the bar and most definitely not that I work there on the side from being a realtor. You’re also making the epic leap to believing that his acceptance of my invitation was more than sheer politeness and actually signified any intention on his part to seek out my company again.”

My dear sister stopped blowing on her nails and gave me a disapproving glare in the mirror. “And you’re making a great show of seeming like you don’t give a shit if you ever see him again.”

“Maybe I don’t.” A little hairspray and I was done, at least done getting ready, not done dealing with my nosy, matchmaking sister. “He’s only here for three months, Jules. Even if West is interested, I wasn’t kidding when I told Trent he’s not worth it. What’s the point of getting worked up over a guy who I know won’t stick around.”

“Even if he’s West Winters?”

“He’s _just_ West Winters, Jules. He’s not Prince Charming, and I’m sure as fuck not Cinderella. I don’t need true love’s kiss or some shit to save my ass from anything.” I grabbed my purse, ready to conquer the night. “I want a kick-ass romance that breaks the rules.”


	6. Chapter 5

*West*

 

 

“I’ll agree, under protest, to the time off, West, but this is insane. Sarah can book you a suite somewhere secluded, an exclusive resort, highly secure, a place suited to you.”

“Max, I’m not asking your permission. We’ve discussed this, and my decision is final. My luggage is unpacked, and I’m settling in quite nicely.” I didn’t mention the spider the size of my palm I killed with a Ferragamo loafer. Truly, it was a trauma I had no interest in reliving. “Mobile reception is a tad spotty here, so leave me a message if need be, and I will return your call when I can. I promise.”

“Where exactly are you?” Even through the phone, I could hear him grinding his teeth, a terrible habit, one brought on by stress, stress I inflicted upon him. Of that, I was well aware, but for once, I was not giving in to his pressure.

“Away. Somewhere remote. Somewhere private. My mum has specifics and alternate contact information in case of emergency, as well as strict instructions not to share it with anyone else, so do not dare call her, Max,” I warned.

All congeniality dissipated at the thought of my manager harassing Mum. Heaven forbid his prize show pony be weary of prancing.

“West, you do realize this could stall your career, even end it, don’t you? You’ve hit A-list status just in the past year or so. You’re too fresh a face to disappear for three months—”

“At least three months.” No time like the present to drop that on him. He’d already grown quite less than pleased with me.

I could hear a loud clattering on his end of the line knew he was rather furious at the moment. “At least? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I intend to take a minimum of three months, perhaps longer. I’ve yet to decide. How I feel after some time will determine that.”

“No.”

“No?” It was an almost laughable response, though I felt no amusement at Max’s entire reaction toward my many previous conversations with him regarding my growing frustrations, and this decision. “I don’t recall wording that in the form of a question, Maxwell. I believe it best we leave the conversation here and touch base again in a few weeks. I’ll phone you then.”

Setting the receiver back on the cradle, I sighed. Perhaps that was incredibly rude of me, ending the call in such a way, but every man has a breaking point.

Perhaps I placed too much blame on him for what had become of me. Certainly, as my manager, Maxwell David Sutton, Esquire may have had the greatest hand in creating the monstrosity of Hollywood fame internationally known as West Winters, but I was the one who permitted it. It was I who believed William Wintersfield was undeserving, fell short of the mark.

Something caught my eye through the kitchen window, running along the deck railing. I’d already battled spiders (one extremely large, several of moderate size), a mouse, what I feared were cockroaches, and an assortment of other yet-unidentified insects. Adding general wildlife of the outdoor variety might have been a bit much for a single day’s agenda.

“Please let it be a chipmunk.”

Realistically, I knew it was far too large for a chipmunk and rethought my hopes as I prepared to open the backdoor.

“Please let it be a squirrel. A very harmless squirrel. A friendly squirrel. A Rocky and Bullwinkle sort of squirrel. Alright, now you’re simply talking crazy … and talking to yourself aloud. Stop that.”

The second I opened the door, a streak of black fur bolted past me.

Oh, bloody hell. A wild creature had joined me indoors. Save for the small voice of male pride demanding otherwise, I’d decidedly prepared to escape out the back door, and run for my life. But exploring the unknown was, to some degree, what had led me there.

“Meow.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected greeting from my uninvited guest; however, I found relief in the sound and the sight of a plump cat that reminded me a bit of a penguin, black body, white chest and stomach, though this one had white feet and white cheeks. “Well, hello there, kitty. Where did you come from?”

The cat purred loud enough to be heard across the kitchen, making it seem rather inviting, and it appeared nonthreatening as I approached. Hm. No collar yet friendly. I imagined it belonged to someone nearby. It pleasantly allowed me to pick it up and carry it back to the door, setting the lovely-tempered cat outside again.

He was clearly not interested, and I do say ‘he’ because as he turned around and strode purposefully back into the house, tail up, I determined my newfound friend was decidedly male.

I hoped the local Save n’ Shop had cat supplies to do until I got the matter sorted.

 

 

***

 

 

I’d made my list, and like jolly old Saint Nick, I’d checked it twice. Then I’d even managed to find my way back into town with moderately little assistance from Siri. Why I felt so nervous sitting in the parking lot of Save n’ Shop, I didn’t know.

Perhaps I feared the possibility of recognition, ruining my entire plan on the first day. Or perhaps the more I did to settle into the temporary life I’d chosen, the more real it became, the more I had to face what I had done and what that meant I had chosen to do, what I had chosen to ignore no longer.

Mum said, “Stock your cupboard, and make yourself at home, William. You’ve gone and done this thing, now don’t be a ninny about it. And for God’s sake, William, eat proper. I didn’t teach you to cook for my own good. You surely aren’t living with me.”

That wasn’t everything she said when I had called her, but the essence of the conversation rather boiled down to just that. I’d made my choice, so follow through, and do it right. And like a good son, I _mostly_ did whatever I could to live up to my mum’s expectations.

For now, that meant food shopping … and pet supply shopping, as the cat was still in the house when I’d left.

The entirety of Save n’ Shop could fit in a small corner of the average LA supermarket, which I found outstandingly strange and yet comforting. However, its trolleys were as much demon-possessed as any I’d crossed paths with in London, complete with squeaky wheels, mysterious rattling, and the intent desire to careen into every center display in the store.

I determined it best that I not be judgmental regarding the quality of produce, or much of anything else in the store. Everything was inexpensive and within the socio-economic expectations of the area. And truly, a boy from Hackney, East End of London, had no business judging anything or anyone. Kensington born and raised, I most certainly was not.

“Excuse me, mister, could you reach me two boxes of those potatoes? The four cheese kind?”

Glancing behind me, I caught sight of a sandy-haired young woman in a sundress, holding a little boy, less than a year old, if I would venture to guess. She was terribly reminiscent of old photographs of my mum with my oldest brother Charlie.

“Of course, miss.” Even without holding the child, I doubted she could have reached the top-shelf item at her petite height. “There you go. Can I help you with anything else?”

 “No.” She blushed, but the boy smiled at me. I smiled back. “Thanks though.” They walked a few feet further up the aisle before she turned back to me. “Are you new around here? Just move here or something?”

“New here? Yes. Moved here? No. I’m on holiday at the lake.”

“On holiday at the lake,” she parroted back, poorly imitating my accent. “That sounds so fancy.”

“Ah, not fancy, just British. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

She looked me up and down, blatantly, from head to toe, and I’m quite sure I blushed. “Yeah. Dressing like that to go grocery shopping and talking fancy like that, you might as well be the King of England.” Shaking her head, she laughed at me. “Enjoy your holiday, your highness. Maybe I’ll see you around again. Oh, and thanks for the potatoes. Very chivalrous of you to assist.”

After she walked away, I examined what I was wearing. Button down shirt, trousers, Oxfords … I hadn’t changed clothes all day. I hadn’t thought about it.

I spent the rest of the shopping trip more focused on my mental checklist of clothing I’d packed, less on food, though the lack of Earl Grey tea was extremely distressing given the entire situation.

On the bright side, I found everything I needed for the cat.


	7. Chapter 6

*West*

 

 

“Do you have a name, kitty? Should I give you one? You don’t seem to be going anywhere, do you?”

A half dozen more attempts to send him out the door proved useless, and I’d given in to the fact I had a cat for the duration. A cat who believed he owned nearly as much of the limited space on the bed as I did.

“Mule-headed yet sophisticated in appearance. You remind me of my grandfather. How does Henry sound? Are you a Henry? I think you’ll be a fine Henry.” He continued purring, so I took that as no objections. “Alright then, Henry, I’m going to the kitchen for a glass of water. You can either come with or stay here. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Henry opted to stay.

1:43. I might not have had mobile reception there, but at least my phone came in handy as a clock.

1:43. Hm. 6:43 in London.

I likely didn’t give it enough thought before I was on the landline calling, but it was too late by then. The line had begun ringing, and I was not simply going to hang up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mum. Did I wake you?”

“Of course not, William. I woke at five sharp, walked Pippen, and cut fresh flowers for the foyer. Whatever are you doing up at such an ungodly hour, and why are you calling again, dear? Not that I don’t love hearing from you, but I certainly hadn’t expected you ringing me up twice in the span of twelve hours.” She sighed heavily. “William, have you gotten yourself into a spot of trouble with the locals there? Is this how you use your one phone call from jail? You know there’s very little I can do from across the pond, William.”

“No, Mum. It’s quite nothing of that sort. … Mum, why would you think—”

“Six boys, William. I raised six boys. You think not a one of you ever saw the inside of a jail cell a single day of his life with the raucous ways of some of you? Believe you me, I’ve received that call more than a few times. I raised good boys, not angels.”

“Why am I just now learning of this? I never knew—”

“You’re the baby, nearly an entire decade younger than the rest. Do you think as a mother with any decency I would subject you to all their scandalous affairs? I truly hoped one of you would not tarnish the family name. A mother can dream, can’t she?”

 “Mum, I’ve done nothing. I’m not in trouble.” I believed I heard a quiet sigh of relief and possibly a quick prayer of thanks off to the side. “This place is quite different from LA, New York, or anywhere else, may as well be an entirely other foreign country. I’m still finding my way, getting my bearings. It’s difficult, Mum, more so than I expected.”

“My dear, you went there with good reason, and no part of the journey to find yourself is quite a piece of cake, William. However, I told you before, you’ve set out upon this task, and like any good Wintersfield I expect you to see it through, so buck up, and be a man about it.”

“Of course, Mum.”

I’d hoped talking to Mum would help me relax, help me sleep, but that wasn’t what helped in that unfamiliar bed with new and strange sounds outside the window. I fell asleep with thoughts of copper eyes, cherry hair, and the sugar biscuit taste left behind by Jamie’s finger on my lips.

When I awoke the next morning to find Henry staring me in the face, I wondered where Jamie was, if she was awake and working, and if she liked cats.

“What am I thinking, Henry?” He purred louder and pushed his furry black and white head into my eye. “Are you trying to knock some sense into me? I probably need it. This isn’t the time for romantic dalliances, is it?” Flopping over, he awaited a belly rub, and I obliged. “But you should see her. She’s quite pretty. Her hair is the color of cherries, the darkest ones. I know it’s not naturally colored that way. I’m sure she has it done in a salon, maybe that one she pointed out in town; however, I quite like it. It complements her personality, I think, at least what I’ve seen of it.”

Henry rolled over, wrapping himself around my hand and arm. Never had I met a more sweet natured cat, quite unlike my previous experiences with cats in general. I’d always considered myself a dog person before Henry. Strange how one significantly different experience can so drastically shift one’s perspective on any given matter.

Like with Max.

I’d worked hard to earn success in the London theater community, even played roles in Shakespearean productions at Donmar and National Theater by the time I caught the eye of Maxwell David Sutton. It wasn’t that John Leominster had wronged me as an agent. He had helped me land a few spots on British television and a couple relatively noteworthy roles in small films as well, but Max swore he knew how to take me further, make my dreams a reality.

Little did I realize how one’s greatest dream could be twisted into a nightmare.

William West Wintersfield, who John said was a talented actor with a distinguished name and an easy manner, charming and gracious, became West Winters. With much coaching and prodding from my new manager, as West I became “Britain’s rising star” then “Hollywood’s new British sex symbol” and eventually, a “Hollywood A-lister” before I opted for my unauthorized leap off the grid. But my charming and gracious self was only allotted specific “appropriate” times to appear. Otherwise, Max determined a persona of cool detachment and measured approachability best suited my new status.

And after seven years of playing by Max’s rules, I felt stifled.

“God, Henry, it’s absolutely stifling in here.” Or perhaps it was my thoughts. “Shall we go to the kitchen and have a cuppa? Perhaps some eggs and toast? Cat food for you.” He rubbed his nose into my hand and stretched a paw toward my face. “Alright, maybe I’ll share some egg with you. How am I supposed to say ‘no’ to my only friend here? Especially when you act that way?”

There was a certain freedom in the fact no other dwellings were within sight of the cabin I’d rented. Between trees, the rolling hills of Kentucky, and a simple matter of distance, I had privacy unparalleled in anywhere else I’d resided in years. No house staff lurking around, no personal assistant hovering, and no well-meaning family members coming in and out without invitation.

And I took great advantage of it in the wretched heat and humidity, climbing out of bed in my boxers and not bothering with clothes. My lack of modesty certainly wasn’t going to offend Henry, and I had no real plans for the day. I knew no one aside from Jamie, and she had explained most every business in town stayed closed on Wednesdays, nixing any thoughts that crossed my mind of casually dropping by her office.

It seemed I would be in for a long day alone, or as alone as one could be with the companionship of a cat who’d apparently become convinced I shouldn’t be left unsupervised.

Henry sat in the window watching as I returned from a run, monitored my shower from his chosen spot nestled in the sink, and oversaw my iPad crossword puzzle whilst perched on the arm of the couch, purring in my ear.

I picked a small piece of chicken from the pan, blew on it, and dropped the cooled bit into Henry’s bowl on the floor before licking my fingers. “What do you think, Henry? Perhaps not my best chicken fettuccine, but I don’t usually use jarred sauce, so there is that. I don’t know what kind of supermarket doesn’t carry heavy cream, but it seems Save n’ Shop is one of them, quite disappointing. … No cream, no Earl Grey, no fresh herbs, limited produce, and the list goes on, Henry. A very long list.”

A magnet of Douglas Realty’s business card hung on the refrigerator. Julie and Jamie Douglas, business owners, realtors, sisters, and the only people I’d had any real contact with in Featherrock, if emails with Julie counted for anything. The words ‘cell phone’ and ten seemingly innocuous numbers beneath Jamie’s name in the bottom right corner taunted me.

_Call her. It’s just a phone call. There’s no harm in talking to her._

Instead, I prepared my plate and took a seat at the kitchen table. Henry hopped up in the chair across from me and waited patiently for his share.

He was a quick learner.


	8. Chapter 7

*Jamie*

 

 

Julie tried to come up with a thousand reasons why she should be the one going out to West’s cabin that afternoon, her best one being that she was his original contact with our office. But Wednesday not being a business day and us both having appointments Thursday morning, the necessity to actually eat lunch after skipping breakfast, and appointments and closings that ran long most of the afternoon already had put things off late enough, I wasn’t going to wait until she returned from Nicholasville with Trent.

So there I stood, holding an envelope in one hand, and knocked on West’s door. And waited.

And waited.

I thought I heard something inside, maybe loud footsteps like someone running. But I still waited with no response.

His car was in the driveway, so I couldn’t imagine he was out anywhere. I knocked again and heard a string of curses, definitely in West’s voice. Then he threw the door open, jumped outside, and slammed it behind him.

“Well, hello, Jamie. I wasn’t expecting you.”

That much was obvious. The previous day’s perfectly styled dark blond hair was an untamed nest of damp curls, those blue puppy dog eyes dancing with a hint of impish playfulness. His clothes rounded out the air of madness surrounding him. With his pants wrinkled as though he picked them up off the floor in a hurry, he stood barefoot, shirt worn like a three-year-old’s, buttons misaligned and a few skipped altogether.

I was never a math genius, but two and two added up real quick. “Shit. You’re … entertaining a guest, aren’t you?”

“Wha—”

“My bad. I should’ve called first.”

“No, Jamie. That’s not—”

“Really, I don’t need to know. And frankly, I don’t want to know a damn thing about who you’re picking up and fucking while you’re here, West.”

I didn’t know why the idea infuriated me, but seeing the grin disappear from his face gave me a certain sense of satisfaction. I hoped he was thoroughly embarrassed.

 “I’m … You … I … Um …” Mouth hanging open on his unfinished thought, face scrunched up in confusion really wasn’t a good look on him. Neither was the label ‘manwhore,’ but he was voted the sexiest man alive the past two years and was the most popular topic on fandom-ruled internet sites. There was definitely more than a boatload of fish in the sea willing to throw themselves on his hook, no bait needed.

“Whatever.” I shoved the envelope at him. “This is your temporary resident pass to hang on the rearview mirror of your car and the key to your mailbox by the gatehouse. Mail’s usually delivered by noon. Your box is twenty-nine. If you need anything else, call me.” With that, I turned and headed back to my car. “Oh, to be clear, West, call me if you need anything in a professional capacity. Flash your famous charms elsewhere if you need another fuck buddy.”

I’d reached my car before he managed to find words again.

“Jamie, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. It’s not what it looks like. I’m so sorry. Please. I’m alone. I … I have no one, Jamie. Truly.” That was enough to make me turn around and consider returning. “You interrupted nothing but the solitude of a man so pleased to see you that one might consider it rather inappropriate.” The grin returned, smaller than before, maybe a little shy with the way he chewed his bottom lip, but it was there.

“Really? Just how inappropriate?”

He blushed, not a light pinking of the cheeks either. It was a full-on terribly embarrassed red face. “Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry. I did not mean to insinuate that I thought of you in an offensive or disrespectful manner. That is not … I … no … um. What I mean to say is that I have no such relationship with you or any matter of claim on your time giving cause to expectations of you, and yet I find myself all-too hopefully expecting you to come see me anyway.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he chewed on his bottom lip in a way I thought he’d make it bleed for a moment while I stayed silent, not sure what the hell to say to that, then he continued. “And so I apologize for feeling inappropriately pleased to see you meet expectations I had no right to place on you.”

West looked at me, waiting for a reaction, and I moved to sit on the hood of my car, which gave me a tiny bit more time to come up with something. “Okay. Well, lots of people expect things from other people that those other people don’t know anything about, or maybe they should, and they just totally miss the boat. You know, like you expect the people at the McDonald’s drive thru to get your order right, but they can’t manage it to save their damn lives.” His whole explanation sounded a little rehearsed, and I honestly wondered if he practiced what he would or should say in various situations because he was so used to working off a script. “Really though, sometimes it’s better when things are spontaneous, West. Me not knowing all of this led to a rather interesting surprise.”

I wasn’t about to admit that I liked knowing he had some kind of interest in me. For all I knew, it could have just been as friends. The guy was by himself and hadn’t had time to make any kind of friends to keep him company for his three-month stay. As much as he claimed he needed time away from everything, a break, he seemed too sociable to last that long completely isolated.

“A surprise?”

It was impossible not to laugh. I doubt he could have looked more confused if he tried. “Yeah. Worldwide Celebrity in the Wild: True Story. I’m getting the real deal on what happens when you’re out of your element, no Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous shit. But seriously, you’ve barely been out here two days on your own. I really thought you’d last longer than this. There’s kind of a _Lord of the Flies_ vibe happening here,” I said, pointing over at him in all his disheveled glory. “And I know this place has running water, all those amenities required to _not_ look like that.”

He glanced down at his shirt and tugged at the buttons as if that could magically fix them. “I can explain.”

“Please do. This has to be worth hearing.”

“It’s just that …” His fingers played at the buttons, slowly putting them in order. It gave the impression his explanation was embarrassing on some level, but I had no intention of letting him off the hook, so I waited. “At home, traveling, really anywhere I am, I have little, if any, privacy. There’s always someone around, someone who just left, or someone on their way, and that’s not even considering the constant presence of paparazzi literally lurking in the bushes  attempting to capture candid shots worth ungodly amounts of money to people who have no care for boundaries or my need for some measure of personal space. And here I, I have none of that. There is no one, no one with me.” Stretched, arms wide open, he looked in every direction, and shook his head. “No one in sight, no one around me.”

“You did say you wanted off the grid.”

“I know I did. I do.” He stared at his toes, curling them in the grass. “I’m perhaps enjoying it a bit too much. I’ve been indulging myself in the ability to do absolutely nothing of any significance, including bothering to dress when waking in the morning since I have nowhere particular to go, which is why I was madly dashing around grabbing the first thing I could find when you knocked at the door. And, um, unfortunately, in my indulgence of this ability to do nothing, I’d left my clothes from Tuesday on the floor, so they were the first thing I found. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, West. One, it’s beyond irritating. Two, people up in your business all the time, always in your face, God, you need a break. You wanna hang around your house stark naked while you’re here, be my guest. That’s your business. Go forth, and let it all hang out. Fly Free Bird.”

His responding expression was incredulous. “I wasn’t bloody starkers. I had on boxers.”

“Oh, well hell. That just changes everything. You made it sound like you were indecent or something. Boxers? Then you weren’t flashing anything all that interesting or really embarrassing.” The blush returned full force. “Oh, come on. You’re an actor for Christ sake. Are you seriously going to tell me after the number of on-screen love scenes you’ve done, answering the door in your boxers would have been that bad?”

“Playing a role, pretending to be someone else in an intimate scenario whilst on set with an entire production crew present is quite something else from this, Jamie.”

West ambled across the yard toward the driveway until he stood an arm’s length away from me, ran a hand over his stubbled face, and stared at me silently, eyes as heated and clear blue as the cloudless summer day. I’d dropped by on a quick business-only errand, but I couldn’t help the unprofessional thoughts that ran through my mind thanks to _that_ look.

Licking his lips nervously, he paused, but he hadn’t finished explaining himself as far as I was concerned, and I enjoyed the sound of his voice, deep, smooth, and accented with that dashing British elegance, so I said nothing.

“Jamie, what you seem to think of me, your assumptions based on my fame or what you may have seen, that’s not necessarily me. I … I’m not that man. Acting for film, theater, and the like is one thing, but a man can only bear so much. I suppose Shakespeare understood the criticality of such a thing more so than I dared wager seven years ago. ‘This above all: to thine own self be true, then it must follow, as the day the night, thou canst not then be false to any man.’ And in this most basic of all actions, I have failed. Perhaps the man I’m believed to be, the famous West Winters would be so cocky as to answer the door undressed, but I myself, William Wintersfield would never be so rude, and most definitely never so ungentlemanly to a woman.”

Something in the way he said ‘a woman’ gave me goose bumps. It insinuated something personal, something intimate, more than just any random chick showing up at his doorstep.

But he couldn’t say it the way he did and imply I might be her. _That_ woman. The one he’d be so gentlemanly to, not for three months. Not only three months.

I’d grown out of the old ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ shit.

“Well, I’m sure over your little extended vacation here I’ll get to see the man behind the celebrity, but for now, I should go. Don’t forget to hang your resident pass in your car. Helen won’t forget you, but if you’re out and about, Buck and Carl from the nights and weekends haven’t met you, and you’ll need that to get back through the gate.”

I slid off my car, ready to leave, and West side-stepped, blocking my path. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … Sorry.” He’d moved so close, if either of us took a deep breath, we’d likely had made contact. With all his apologizing, I expected him to make a little room between us, but he didn’t. He stayed rooted in place, and I didn’t give any ground either. “Would you care to join me for tea?”

Tea. Did I want to join West Winters for tea? Or William Wintersfield?

Holy hell. Standing so close and with me in flat sandals, he stood taller than I remembered from meeting him. Not so much cute as I thought at first either. No. He was handsome, handsome in a beautiful kind of way, perfectly classic jaw line, cheekbones, and nose, bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, eyes blue with a tinge of green and expressive. With his right brow lifted, his eyes asked me to stay, begged a bit, even pouted.

No wonder he was an actor. His right eyebrow could perform Shakespearean theater all on its own.

“Not today, West. To be honest, I have an appointment in an hour, and I have a feeling if I go inside with you, we’ll lose track of time.”

The huge smile that spread across his face revealed straight, white teeth and laugh lines I didn’t see on enough men in Featherrock. “If saying you believe we’d lose track of time means you believe we’d enjoy one another’s company then I most certainly hope we would, and in that case, how about a rain check?”

Hm. I wondered when he said, ‘enjoy one another’s company,’ if it was anything along the lines of me finding him way too charming, saying ‘fuck it,’ pushing him onto the table, and taking advantage of him, because that was basically where my mind went.

I may not have known what he was looking for over the next three months, but I knew what I was hoping to avoid, and West wasn’t helping.

“Sure. A rain check sounds great.”

What the hell. … Telling Julie I wanted a romance that broke all the rules meant nothing if I didn’t open the door when rule breakers knocked.


	9. Chapter 8

*West*

 

 

Checking Siri one last time, I slid out of the car and locked it, clicking the button doubly for good measure. A gravel car park with more trucks on oversized tires than average motor cars left me less inclined to agree with Siri that this was indeed the best locale for a drink.

But wasn't that part of what I wanted? Not simply a getaway, a break, some semblance of a normal life during this time off, but a bold adventure into the unknown … and a search expedition, seeking what I’d lost?

A resounding ‘yes’ propelled me forward and through the door, yet it was not dim lights and country music which assaulted me as I expected. Flo Rida blared, bass thumping in my chest while lights drew all eyes on the bar, or perhaps dance floor was the proper descriptor given the three ladies atop it doing just that, dancing.

Jamie twirled in the center, raising a shot glass to the ceiling before letting out a rowdy 'woo' and knocking it back with quite a flourish. I thought I was escaping the past hours spent with her running through my mind, picking up the phone only to talk myself out of ringing her up too soon. Going out for a few drinks seemed like a good idea, a way to get her off my mind.

What a bloody git I was to think such a thing in that small town.

My god, she looked nothing like she did when she dropped by in the afternoon. No. She was all pleasure and no business that night.

"What the fuck you lookin' at? Your eyes on my little sister, motherfucker?"

"Uh. Um. ... I just." I may have held a few inches height advantage over the man who suddenly appeared in my face, but the narrow-eyed glare, toothpick twitching at the corner of his mouth, and flex of his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for a coherent response implied he saw no disadvantage on his part at all. I felt inclined to agree. "Um. No."

His pecs danced under the second skin of his tee, and his eyes narrowed further. "Bullshit, motherfucker. You're that hoity-toity Hollywood Brit shackin' up at Stamper's cabin. Don’t look so surprised, _West_." My name was a dangerous hiss from the man, and as he reached to pat me on the shoulder, the snake tattooed on his arm slithered in the motion. "You see, West," he said with a rather threatening grin as he gripped my shoulder and pulled me eye level to him. "I don't give one tiny fucking iota of a fuck who you are in the grand scheme of shit. You're in _my_ world now. The Last Chance is _my_ bar. Julie Mae Douglas is _my_ girl, and that makes her sister’s best interests _my_ greatest concern. The last guy to fuck over Jamie Lea in the romance department got three of his front fucking teeth kicked in courtesy of these boots right here."

He shuffled a tad closer, and I swallowed hard. "I see."

"You damn well better, motherfucker. I have ways of knowing _everything_ that goes down in _my_ county." With a tick less-than-friendly slap to my cheek, he grinned and leaned back. "You pay for your drinks same as anyone else, and if you're gonna keep lookin' at Jamie Lea like that, you best check to see your dental plan's up-to-date."

I nodded and debated retreat, but a glance to Jamie, and one dazzling smile prodded me further. "Of course. Where should I sit?"

"At the bar, dumbass." He shook his head then reached a hand out, finally offering a civilized greeting. "Name's Trent Headly, purveyor of good booze and good times. What's your poison? I'll fix ya up."

"My poison?" Perhaps Max was right in a manner of speaking. This break might not end my career, but it might be the death of me.

"Never mind," Trent muttered, slapping me on the back and shoving me toward an empty bar stool as "Kryptonite" blasted from the speakers. "You look like a scotch on the rocks kinda guy, so I got some back country moonshine that'll absolve you of all your wrongdoings."

Heaven, help me. I believed I'd entered the lair of the devil himself, and I quite liked the music.

 

 

***

 

 

Deranged laughing filled the bar from the speakers followed by the loud clap of Trent’s hands, and with graceful ease, he hopped onto the bar. Crouched down and wearing a wicked grin, the toothpick at the corner of his mouth completed his apparent trademark appearance.

Applause erupted as he stood, spun, and two-step shuffled his way to the side toward the girls, every bit as much the entertainer as he was the businessman, and I suspected, local mob boss given his greeting methods. Reaching the woman in the center, bearing such a striking resemblance to Jamie, she could only be her sister Julie. Trent glided a hand down along her side, slapping her on the ass with a firm sense of ownership that made me flinch, but everyone else cheered, and she simply laughed, shaking her head.

Noticing all the patrons seated along the bar were taking their drinks in hand and leaning back as if some event is about to happen, I did the same, unsure what I’d prepared for, but following the lead of the locals, unwilling to look foolish. On the bar, the show gained momentum, the music turned up louder, and the bartender handed things to Julie while Trent danced with Jamie.

Julie did a partial backbend, settling a full shot glass in her cleavage and lightly biting a lemon wedge between her teeth. The crowd’s excitement became a palpable thing as a heartbeat, reminding me of fans swarming film premieres when Trent turned his focus to her, hands raised in the air. It was a theatrical performance the way he licked the salt from her bare chest, taking the shot glass in his mouth, tilting his whole body back to catch every last drop before Jamie stole away the glass, and how he seductively plucked the lemon wedge, teasing the audience with the mere idea he just might kiss Julie.

She stood upright again, earning another slap on the ass as she sauntered away with a shimmy and shake, but Trent was the center of his show, tearing the lemon from his mouth and tossing it behind the bar. Fists raised to the ceiling, he stomped a boot heel down hard, and let out the type of rebel-rouser yell I’d expected from someone like him; however, the full back flip executed with gymnast agility and landed to an explosive eruption of the entire establishment was more than I imagined. I’d become caught up in it as well, cheering and clapping, whistling loudly enough to quite possibly raise the roof off the building of questionable structural integrity.

  “I take it this place isn’t too much of a disappointment.” Jamie took me by surprise, dropping into the empty bar stool beside me, and I hadn’t the faintest how she stopped dancing without my notice. “You seem surprised to see me here, though I can’t say the same about you, not that I thought you’d find it so soon, definitely not in the first week, but with limited options for entertainment around here, I figured you’d be in here eventually. That is, unless you’re anti-social.”

“I’m not.” Immediately, my face flushed with the desire to take those words back, sticking my foot in my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I am surprised to see you here. Sorry. I’m not anti-social. You, I did not expect. That. That is what I meant. Yes.” Rather than continue digging a chasm for Trent to bury me in or a hole to China, I stopped talking.

She looked to the bartender and in an instant, he served up a shot of some amber liquor. Jamie half-smiled in my direction and shook her head. “To the unrelenting ability to apologize.”

I grinned, embarrassed, but seeing no hesitation as she took her shot, I daringly knocked back the glass served to me by Trent earlier. Gagging and sputtering, the lava-like substance spewed from my mouth onto Jamie’s top. “I am so sorry, so very sorry. Here, take my shirt. Sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what that was. I didn’t order it.” Quickly unbuttoning the shirt I’d thrown over my tee, I resisted the urge to glance around for Trent out of fear, and wished I had that hole to disappear into right about then.

“Don’t worry about it. Trent usually keeps a couple extra shirts in his office. He won’t care if I steal one.” Mostly ignoring me as she reached across the bar for a towel, something in her dismissive tone and the thought of her in Trent’s shirt left me insistently pushing my shirt at her.

“No. I’m at fault. I should rectify the situation. Take mine. Please.” She waved it away, and I leaned forward, not embarrassed that I knew a hint of fear laced my tone. “Please. Trent’s already called me a motherfucker at least a half dozen times now. I daresay he will take this as some affront and look for retribution in one form or another. Allow me to make amends as best I can. Please, Jamie. I apologize at length and only ask that you take my shirt. No strings attached. I don’t even need it back.”

“Fine.” Snatching it from my hands, she slipped it on, buttoned it, and did that uncanny trick I believe only women can manage, pulling her arms inside, then producing her wet camisole top like a magician, not a flash of bare skin to be seen in the process.

Holding her arms out, she tilted her head. “So how’s this for a fashion statement?”

Arms outstretched, the fabric fell free, hem landing below that of her very short, denim shorts. Did I not know otherwise, I could have mistaken her for having just crept out of my bed and slipped into my shirt found on the floor. I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d allowed myself to truly fancy a woman and act upon it, promising a part of me for her alone, to scuttle away time and privacy for us and no one else.

I found my voice again, inspired by the Eurythmics pouring from the speakers then. “Sweet dreams are indeed made of this, darling.” That sounded much smoother and less pathetic in my head.

“Wow, West. Just wow. Do you have a pick up line that isn’t written in a script or somehow created by someone else?”

“You tryin’ to charm my lil’ sis, motherfucker?” Trent crouched on the bar, toothpick twitching, snake slithering on the skin of his bicep, perched like a vulture over me.

“Me? No. No, of course not. I would never try to _charm_ her.” My God, that guy… I took a deep breath and tried to smile pleasantly. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, T. He accidently spilled his drink on me so he could accidentally get me out of my shirt and into his.” Jamie flipped her hair over her shoulder, spun on her heel, and walked away.

My jaw dropped. I honestly thought she liked me.

Trent dropped off the bar, landing heavily on his cowboy boots, and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck and causing his snake tattoo to slither again. “Didn’t I warn you not to fuck with her, motherfucker?”

Despite his crude use of the English language, I felt undoubtedly sure Trent Headly’s enemies were quite capable of befalling fates such as that of Jimmy Hoffa, if they were fortunate. Never being seen or heard from again had to be better than some of the grisly murders regularly on the news.

“Yes, Trent… Sorry. I mean, Mr. Headly, sir, yes. You did. I apologize. I did not necessarily do anything wrong. I believe she was joking. It was an accident.”

“Are you callin’ Jamie Lea a liar? You comin’ in my establishment with the balls to disrespect my family, motherfucker? ‘Cause you best be ready to man up carryin’ balls like that in here.”

Facing the very real possibility Max was right all along, I raised my hands in defense, mistakenly touching Trent, rectifying that error the second his glare burned with the venom of a pit full of vipers. “May I ask if there is a way in which I go home tonight without any of my blood on the outside of my body?”

Trent laughed just as slick and dark as the snake on his arm. “Money talks, and motherfuckers get the fuckin’ shit kicked out of them.”

“Money? I have money. I have lots of money. I’ll pay you anything you want. Just please, I’m sorry. I will never bother you again. I will stay out of here. I will never come back and never speak to Jamie again.” Wallet in hand, I prepared to dole out every bill in it to walk out in one piece, for my end not to be in a redneck bar that didn’t even play country music.

“I don’t accept bribes,” he growled, in my face worse than before. “What kinda piece of shit do you think I am, motherfucker? You think I’m some kinda amoral motherfucker like them Hollywood types you meet? Fuck you, motherfucker.”

Of course not. Nothing about him insinuated any such thing. I called upon my best acting skills not to grin or smirk or outright laugh.

“You pay to play just like everyone else. Fifty bucks.” He held out his hand, and I paid the man before he had to say it again, though he hadn’t explained what my money paid for me to _play_. I was both curious and afraid to know. “Fifty bucks gets you one song dancin’ on the bar with the girls and a body shot. I’ll let you take the shot off Jamie since you’re keen on her, and she likes you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe she likes me. I believe quite the opposite.” She had just left me for Trent to do with as he pleased.

“You spilled a drink on her. She didn’t punch you in the fuckin’ face. I know that girl. That’s a goddamn sign of endearment.”

“Oh.”

He glared at me. “Don’t do anything stupid, motherfucker. I’m pickin’ your song.”

“Wait. I’m paying to do what?”

“To be part of the show, dumbass. People come from all over ‘round here and pay not just to watch, but to be part of the entertainment. Go be entertaining, motherfucker.” Trent laughed again. “You’re in my castle. I’m the king, and you just paid to be my court jester. Entertain me, motherfucker.”

He shoved me toward the bar then hopped up, slid across, and jumped off behind it, heading straight for the iPod I saw controlled the music, grinning devilishly when he found what he was looking for, and gestured for me to get up on the bar, no ifs ands or buts about it.

Heaven help me. I guessed I was about to get jiggy wit’ it.


	10. Chapter 9

*Jamie*

 

 

“Wait. I thought you’d just make him do one dance, loosen him up a bit,” I said as low to Trent as possible given the volume of noise in the bar when the lyrics to the new song started.

He laughed and shrugged me off his arm. “Guy’s got nerve. Popped another fifty and requested this song. Get your ass up there, and make it worth his money. Ditchin’ after the body shot wasn’t cool, and you know it.”

Trent could be an ass, but he was right about one thing. West had nerve. That thin, white v-neck tee, dark wash jeans, and bold sneakers ensemble wasn’t something a normal grown man would wear around there. But I doubted that was the nerve Trent gave a shit about.

West picked the perfect song, because he definitely had moves like Jagger. Of any men who’d ever taken to the bar, only Trent had that kind of daring stage presence and flair when it came to dancing. Sure, plenty got up there and had a little fun, got a little groove on, but none of them went all out like this.

Quickly, I checked that the sleeves of West’s shirt were still rolled up above my elbows then readjusted it to tie it higher, baring a lot more of the body I’d worked to keep in shape. “How do I look?”

“Like I need to get my shotgun.”

“Perfect.” I pecked Trent on the cheek and hopped back on the bar, side-stepping Amber to take the spot beside West. Oh, the look on his face. For one Kodak moment, his dance moves were less than smooth. Then he reached out his hand.

And I took it.

He spun me toward him, the grin on his face priceless when our eyes met. West might have been just a bit younger than me, but God, he could have been a teenager with his infectious energy and zest for life. “I’ve never danced with a partner, darling, not like this, only ballroom, but I’m sure it’ll be right smashing.”

Oh my, the grin on his face.

Releasing me, with the exception of my hand, he allowed space for my attempt to follow his lead. “Well, I’ve never done either, unless you count prom, which I wouldn’t.” I thought it was half dance lead and half lesson in insanity. Feet, hands, arms, head, hips, no part of him wasn’t dancing. “What the hell are you doing?”

Laughing was what I was doing. He was hysterical, and right. It was fun. And everyone in the bar loved him, if the cheering and clapping was any indication.

“Letting the music flow. I don’t think it. I just feel it. If you’re going to dance, go at it full Monty, or don’t bother.” Christ, that grin. “Come on, double spin on three. One, two, three.”

He let go of my hand, and we both did a spin, though I’m sad to say, I believe his was with far more flair and panache than mine, not that I’m a sorry excuse for a dancer, but _damn_. The boy had impressive moves.

“The song’s almost over, West. You should do your body shot now.”

That bright grin faded in its magnitude, though he didn’t stop dancing. “Can’t I simply dance?”

“It’s part of the show, what people expect when they come here.” And since when did any guy refuse a body shot off a woman? Shit. “Do it off Amber if you want. Not Julie, unless you have a death wish.”

“It wasn’t you.” Those puppy dog eyes I first saw on him returned. How the fuck he still danced like that was beyond me. “I felt quite awkward before, to be honest. I’d rather not do it at all.”

“I’ll do one off you.” I didn’t even wait for his response and waved at Nate to prep it. West’s dance became more of a shuffle with crazy arm movements. “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t bite, and you’ll suck it up like a big boy.”

Having a celebrity in The Last Chance was certainly a first, though so far, nobody aside from Julie, Trent, and me seemed to realize who West was. But having West Winters laid out on the bar, flat on his back, shirtless, salt on his chest, a lemon wedge balanced on his throat, and a shot glass of tequila held is his mouth while I straddled his stomach … well, I wouldn’t call that a first so much as the fantasy of millions of women across the globe.

I ran my fingernails up his arms and down his sides, and he scrunched his eyes closed. “Try not to look like this is painful,” I said as softly as possible under the blaring music. He tried to mumble something around the shot glass in his mouth, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “Stop talking.”

Julie stood behind me, holding my hair back while I dramatically leaned forward, slowly running my tongue over his chest, licking the salt off, and trying like hell not to enjoy it as much as I was. Damn it if he didn’t start squirming and giggling. Or at least what passed for giggling with his mouth full of a shot glass. A splash of tequila spilled out and dripped down to his ear thanks to his inability to stay still.

“Keep it up, and I’m going to lick that off your face, West. Then we’ll see how embarrassed you get.”

He held dead still, rolling his eyes down to peek at me. Maybe he didn’t think I was serious. Maybe he was daring me to do it. Clearly, West Winters was new there.

Eye-to-eye with Mr. Hollywood Big Shot, fingers in his hair, I ran the tip of my tongue along the rim of the glass. I don’t think he breathed. He definitely wasn’t moving anymore.

Everyone in the bar went crazy when I took the shot, and West’s eyes were so wide they could have popped out of his head as I dove in for the lemon wedge. Despite the volume of everything else in the bar, I’m sure I heard a gasp from him. I sat back up and tossed the lemon behind the bar. West seemed to think the ordeal is over, but I wasn’t done with him yet.

“Oops. It seems this silly boy spilled tequila on his cheek.” My devilish smirk met his dropped jaw tit-for-tat. “What should I do about that, you guys?”

The bar unanimously responded, “Lick it off.”

“You heard them.”

And I did, from his ear to the corner of his mouth. For a moment, his fingertips grazed my leg before he quickly pulled back again, maintaining control, but his breath on my face gave him away. God, I could have kissed him right then, a peck on the lips or an all-in just-the-way-he-dances kiss, and everyone in the bar would have thought it was all part of the show.

But West’s reaction … Fuck. I’d never been that big on gambling.

When it was all over, I reached a hand to help him stand, a peace offering. I knew he didn’t need it, but he accepted. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“Could have been worse, I suppose.” Amber tossed his shirt over, and he thanked her then started winding his around his hands nervously. “I … You …” His brow furrowed, and the puppy dog eyes were back. “Is there somewhere I could wash up a bit? I’m rather sticky.”

“Sure. Men’s restroom is down that hall, second door on the right.”

Once he disappeared around the corner, Julie dragged me off the bar and into Trent’s office while Amber played a game of Drunken Ring Toss with a local.

“What the fuck was that, J?” She was in total ‘I think I’m your big sister’ mode.

“What the fuck was what? Putting on the show like always? Having fun? Keeping _your_ boyfriend’s bar making bank every night?” Her eyes narrowed. Alright, the last comment was a bitchy low blow. “Or you mean looking like I’m making moves on your celebrity crush?”

“Yes! I mean, no! Not exactly. Mother of fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing, Jamie.” My sister paced over to Trent’s desk, which stayed far more organized than one might expect, and perched on the corner. “I wasn’t serious about all that. … About going for it with him. Unless he’s a total liar in interviews, he’s not like that. Casual hook ups aren’t his thing, and if he thinks that’s what you’re into and wanting from him, he’s gonna bolt like a skittish horse.”

Sigh.

“Fuck. If I’m lucky, he knows it was all in good fun, is just a little embarrassed.”

She snorted. “Or he thinks you’re just like the worst of the Westies, throwing yourself at him like a bitch in heat.”

Well, I’d either gotten West Winters flustered for all the most flattering reasons, or he would spend three months avoiding me like the plague, which wouldn’t be the easiest thing to do in a town the size of Featherrock.


	11. Chapter 10

*West*

 

 

A drink.

All I hoped for was a simple drink, something to get my mind off things, to relax me, perhaps to find a place where I could become a regular of sorts during my stay. What I’d gotten, well, I couldn’t say I was quite sure.

Fumbling my keys from my pocket, I dropped them in the gravel beside the car. Clearly, I’d gotten myself flustered, or Jamie had. Maybe I’d let her.

The sound of gravel crunching under someone’s feet did nothing to fill me with confidence as I leant over retrieving my keys in the dark car park of a bar with no other buildings in sight. I might have quite literally been in the middle of nowhere.

I found my keys just in time.

“Were you going to leave just like that, not say goodnight or anything?”

Exhaling, I turned around. “Good lord, Jamie, I nearly pressed the panic button when I heard you come up behind me.”

She laughed and looked around. “And what was that going to do out here exactly?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Such an action has no more place here than I do.” Embarrassment or hurt drove me to say it, that I knew, but saying it made me press the unlock button and open the door, ready to drive away, run, hide.

Her eyes locked on mine and kept me there, though I knew I shouldn’t stay. There wasn’t reason enough.

“This place is different, but you’ll get used to it. Anyway, you were great. You have to come back.”

I _had to_.

“For what? To be part of the show, the fun, the way you keep Trent’s business profitable? Is that why?”

She appeared as stunned to have heard it as I was to have said it aloud. “I take it you overheard us.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but the men’s loo shares a wall with where you were, and you were quite loud.” Yet the expression on her face made me feel like a cad for having heard it, however unintentionally.

“How much of it?”

I tossed the keys in the seat and shut the door. “Only that. I did not want to hear that much, and I most certainly did not want to hear any more.”

Jamie walked boldly toward me, a mere six inches left between us, and looked up, right in my eyes. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing said would matter if I didn’t tell you what happened up on that bar, West.”

“Lest you forget, I was there as well, Jamie.” My body hadn’t forgotten. But it was just a show, an unscripted production lacking direction, and my heart sunk once again. “Believe me. I haven’t forgotten one single second of it.”

“So you _know_ everything.” She cocked her head, eyes daring me to attest that as truth. “You _know_ you’re the first guy who’s had a shot taken off them instead of the other way around. You _know_ I only did it because you seemed cool with having a good time, and I thought you’d get that it was all in fun. No harm. No foul.” With one finger, she traced the path from my ear to my mouth, same as her tongue took earlier. “And I guess you _know_ that when I was right there, I thought of kissing you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” The question came out accusatory, and I suppose, in part, it was. Everyone has an angle, something they want from you, from me. I’d learnt that the hard way.

“Because everyone would have believed it was all part of the show, even you. … Especially you.” Jamie shook her head and patted my cheek, not in the rough manner of Trent, but soft, nearly a caress. “You may not believe this, but if William Wintersfield is who I’ve been talking to since you arrived and not West Winters, I actually like William better. He’s a nice guy, and even if he is up for having fun, I don’t want to take advantage of that. Or him.”

Silence hung in the air momentarily while I searched for a proper response, finding I quite lacked any. “I … Hm. Well, then. … Should I, uh … I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t.” Holding a hand up, Jamie stepped back. “Don’t apologize.”

“Why not?” Her aversion to apologies was truly baffling.

“Because I’m not sure you really know what you’re apologizing for. Go home. Sleep on it. Call me tomorrow if you figure it out.”

She turned to walk away, leaving things feeling rather awkward, no farewell or anything. “Yes. Well, I should go check on the cat anyway. Good night.”

Yes. Great. I didn’t sound like a bloody tosser at all.

I got a half-hearted wave over the shoulder, not a hesitation in her gait, not a ‘good night’ in return.

Maybe I didn’t belong there. Maybe I was a fool. Maybe I didn’t understand women.

Scratch that. I don’t understand women, and any man who says he does most certainly is a fool.

But as I watched her walk away that night, I already knew I wasn’t leaving Featherrock, Kentucky yet, foolish or not.


	12. Chapter 11

*Jamie*

 

 

“I swear to fucking God, the Adams are insane, Jules. One eighty-seven five, plus seller pays closing costs, and for an inspection. The lunacy of even sending this offer is appalling,” I hollered from my office across to her open door.

She laughed so hard, she snorted. “You mean the bitch found a place she didn’t nitpick to death?”

“Yep. The one on Royce Drive.”

“It’s two hundred, price dropped twice already.” A Nerf football came hurdling over the empty reception desk, through my open door, and bounced off my laptop keyboard onto the floor. “You must be kidding.”

Picking up the football, I stashed it in my bottom drawer for a surprise attack later. “I wish. I’m about done with these lunatics. I’ll be old and decrepit before they ever find the right house for their idea of the right price. FML, Jules. Seriously, FML.”

“Any showings today?”

“Nope. You?” What a joke. Real estate wasn’t what it was when we got into it.

“Just a one o’clock in Versailles.” There was a distinct ‘thunk’ of a dart hitting her dartboard. “All the decent properties are getting further and further out. … Fuck this economy.”

“No shit. Whatcha wanna do for lunch?”

 Another dart hit. “Did you seriously forget my hair appointment at eleven? I’ll have to leave straight from there to Versailles and grab something on the way.” Thunk. “Sorry, J. You’re on your own.”

 

 

***

 

 

The electronic chime rang as the front door opened, and I glanced at the clock on my laptop. 11:52. “You forget something, Jules?”

“I’m sorry, but I … I’m not your sister.”

That voice. That smooth, deep, and oh-so-British voice did strange things to my empty and already growling stomach. “Well that’s pretty apparent. She’s never been that great at impersonations.”

I clicked ‘save’ and locked my laptop screen before leaving my desk, but he was at my office door by the time I got out of my chair.

“Good morning, Jamie.” He wore khakis, a pale green button down with the sleeves rolled up, and an impish grin. The whole look suited him just as well as red carpet tuxedos he’d worn when plastered all over magazines for film premieres.

“It’s barely still morning, but we’ll go with that. Good morning, West. Or is it William? Do you even know anymore?”

Okay. I told myself that morning that if he called, I’d keep the bitchy down to a minimum, but I’d made no contingency plan for if he showed up in person. Emergency preparedness never was my forte.

He cast his eyes to the floor and rubbed at his neck, an awkward child in a grown man’s body, not a Hollywood superstar standing in the doorway of my office.

“Hey, I’m not trying to give you shit just because you’re the new guy around or anything. I hope you get that. But fuck, I always thought if I met a celebrity on your level I’d be starstruck or something, and yet, you aren’t exactly a starstruck-inducing kinda guy,” I admitted, though I wasn’t sure it would make him feel any better. “I just want to know who the hell you are before I …” I caught myself and shut up, leaving the ball in his court.

“Before you what?”

“No. You first. Why are you here?”

The way he chewed at his bottom lip, stalling, made me have to focus on his shirt buttons instead of his face.

“Because I truly am sorry, and I can tell you why.” Finally, he stepped through the doorway, but didn’t come any further. “I jumped to conclusions, made assumptions about you. West Winters is the publicity overhaul my manager believed I required to make the leap from stage to screen. As much as I love theater, as deeply seated in my heart as it is, I dreamt bigger, broader, bolder. But dreams come at a price, unfortunately, and mine came at the cost of my privacy and the loss of knowing if people get close because of the name I am or the person I am.” He took another step closer, his fingers tracing the stitching of the chair facing my desk. “When I overheard your conversation, I assumed the former to be true of you, but after hearing you out last night, I realize I was quite mistaken, and for that, I am indeed most regretfully sorry, Jamie.”

His eyes met mine, and God, they were intense enough to render me speechless. For a moment anyway. “See. That apology actually sounds sincere and acceptable. If you always apologized like that, I wouldn’t tell you to stop doing it.”

“Then am I forgiven?”

The tilt of his chin and upturned eyes, he was innocent and coy, or maybe playful and mischievous. It was hard to get a read on him, and I’d seen a bit of both. “I don’t know. Who am I forgiving?”

“West Winters is essentially a stage name, but still me, and aside from my family and longtime friends, nearly everyone calls me that.” His tongue ran over his bottom lip, then that lip was between his teeth again, and I’d never seen a guy so nervous since Chuck Hingham asked me to prom. “But I think I would very much like it, Jamie … if you would call me William.”

“Alright, William, how about I forgive you over lunch. I mean, if your busy schedule allows for that.”

We stood grinning at each other for a stupidly long time before he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and studied the screen a few moments, face scrunched up in serious contemplation. “Hmm. My calendar appears clear through September, so I should be able to pencil you in today, but we really should discuss this in advance next time, just in case. Henry and I might make plans.”

“Henry?”

“Yes. My housemate. Henry.”

“You have someone living with you?” It was difficult to imagine William living comfortably in that tiny place, but two men? No. My imagination didn’t stretch that far.

Laughing, he ran his long, slender fingers through his hair, carefully styled, unlike the day before. “Well, not someone per se. The cat I mentioned last night, I named him Henry.”

“Ah. Okay. So you’re a cat person?” I wasn’t sure if that surprised me. He seemed the type who could go cat or dog.

“I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself so much a cat person as I would say Henry is a people cat, and I’m a conveniently adopted stray human.”

The way his eyes brightened with a wide smile added butterflies to my empty, growling stomach. FML. I’d gotten an offer out for a client, had a shift at the bar that night, and was starving. Getting all ‘teenager with a crush’ wasn’t convenient right in that moment.

“Cats have a way of doing that. We ended up with Schroedinger in a similar situation.” I grabbed my purse from behind the desk and walked around to meet him. “Is Josie’s okay for lunch?”

West’s hand on my arm definitely took me by surprise, though it wasn’t grabbing, jolting and rough. He had a gentle and light touch, almost apologetic for invading my space. “First, it’s your turn, Jamie.” His eyes were intent on mine, the effect of his shirt giving them a slightly blue-green hue. “Before what? You want to know who I am before what? You said you’d tell me.”

A deal’s a deal. I’d hoped he’d forget or at least not remember till much later, but no such luck. Trent might be an asshole in some serious ways, but we all lived by his golden family rule: Say what you mean. Mean what you say. And come hell or high water, do what you say.

“Before I let you too close.” He licked his lips and took a breath. Christ, I was willing to bet he’d be a great kisser. “I’ve not had the best luck in the past. Learned a few hard lessons.”

“Then it seems we have something in common.”


	13. Chapter 12

*West*

 

 

“You don’t have one of those fetish diets do you?” She asked, much to my confusion, as she locked the office. “Like vegan, paleo, macrobiotic, or whatever the thing in LA is now.”

“No, none of that. And actually, I spend my downtime in London or New York, not Los Angeles. There’s a tad less paparazzi, and fans tend to make themselves less conspicuous as a general rule.”

There, we were the only two people on the sidewalk and crossed the street without hurry, no traffic in the street. There were birds in the trees and a dog in the yard of a nearby house, and I knew because I heard them rather than blaring horns and throngs of strangers talking on their mobiles as they rushed through their lives, nearly oblivious to one another’s existence.

“Helloooo. Earth to William. Did you even hear me?”

Apparently, I was being the oblivious one. “I’m sorry. No. My mind wandered, to be honest.”

“Well, I’ll try to be less boring. Maybe cartwheel down the sidewalk. Or instead of just talking, I should sing everything like a Broadway show tune.” Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but her tone insinuated the glare I received.

“Jamie …” I reached for her hand, but unlike the previous night, she didn’t take mine. With a sigh, I slipped it in my pocket and didn’t bother to pick my pride off the ground. Sensibility said I’d do best without it if my interests fell on her.

London, New York, Los Angeles, somewhere, anywhere else, I could have found a woman who would take my hand without a moment’s hesitation, yet Jamie …

“Jamie, you are not boring, not to me. In fact, ‘boring’ does not even make the list of adjectives with which I would choose to describe you. Bright. Boisterous …” That one earned a smile and gained me an ounce of bravado. I took a step closer. “Beautiful. Breathtaking. Certainly not boring.”

“I asked if deluxe bacon cheeseburger, fries, and sweet tea is good with you,” she said.

Not the response I was expecting.

“Whatever you suggest. I’m easy.”

Entering Josie’s Café wasn’t full of surprises the way The Last Chance was. Country music played, ceiling fans spun above the counter with stools mostly empty of patrons, four-seater booths lined the walls, and small tables with two chairs each filled the space between them. Its décor predated my birth, but everything, unpretentious and welcoming, said it shouldn’t be any other way.

“Hey, Kendra, the usual times two, and make it to go, please.”

“Sure. Be about fifteen minutes.” The matronly woman wrote our order down while Jamie turned to me, smiling.

Quite honestly, I was a tad disappointed. “We’re not staying?”

Mischief danced in her eyes, and she grazed my stomach with her fingernails. Oh blimey. Perhaps I’d forgive her for not taking my hand.

“Not today.” She shifted closer, making room for a burly man to step up and place his order.

Her hair smelled of apples, and I wanted to stand there simply breathing in everything about this woman.

“Is that to say we will another time, you and I?”

“If that’s what you want. We should probably compare calendars and see if either of us has any free time, but I might be able to pencil you in somewhere.”

I wanted a promise of a next time, but I didn’t want to push her, didn’t want her to run. … And didn’t know why I wanted to hold her so badly.

“How about you have your assistant Schroedinger call my assistant Henry? They can work out the details and schedule the appointment for us. It’s far easier when you’re such busy people.”

“Oh that is true. They’d rather be in charge of our lives anyway. That’s the way assistants are. Just when you think you’re the boss, you realize, it really is the other way around.”

Our laughter came easily, comfortably, and Jamie’s hand on my arm as she leaned into me, grinning at a joke only we understood, was natural, yet delightful in its unexpectedness.

Dear God, I wanted to tell her she’s beautiful once more, press my lips to hers, feel their warmth, know beyond a doubt they’re as soft as I guessed them to be, and learn if the sweet taste of sugar biscuits lingering on her finger that first day would be waiting, deliciously inviting on her full lips.

“Jamie, order’s ready. Fifteen eighty-eight.

Clearing my throat, I took a breath, thankful for the interruption. Giving into the notion of kissing her for the first time in the middle of the local café with a small audience may have been mildly awkward.

“No.” Gently stopping her from continuing to dig through her purse for her wallet, I pulled mine out instead. “It would be ungentlemanly to allow a lady to pay for our meal together. Please. Allow me.”

Kendra giggled from behind the register. “Well, aren’t you just a cutie pie, mister. You’re not from around here are ya?” Smoothing her graying hair, she winked at me before taking my twenty dollars. “What’s yer name, sweet cheeks?”

“Ah, aren’t you a doll. I’m … Will, and I’m just enjoying a getaway out at the lake for a few months.” New town, new me. Or the old me. Or maybe Jamie was right to ask who I was.

“You be sure and stop by while you’re around town, Will. We need some new scenery ‘round this place, and the Lord surely made a masterpiece outta you, honey.” She winked again.

“Don’t worry, Kendra. I’ll bring him around regularly and even make him sit at the counter sometimes. Let you get a good eyeful of him.”

I was a drowning man, and Jamie tossed me an anchor rather than a life preserver.

“West, William, now Will,” Jamie started the second we were out the door. “Do you have IDs and passports for all these aliases in case you go on the lam, or is this just to confuse everyone who tries to get to know you?”

She held the bags of our lunch against her chest, arms around them. A barrier. A wall between us. A defense against me. We were repeating the same two steps forward, three steps back dance to a looping song. I really hated that song.

“I can’t be West Winters here, Jamie. Do you honestly think I’d last three days undiscovered, much less three months? This may be a small town, but people do watch films and the telly and have the internet.” Keeping my voice calm, I stated the facts of the matter, of my situation, the truth I couldn’t escape. “And as much as I do love my name and greatly prefer to be William, I’m not unaware that parading around a small town with an unmistakably British accent and introducing myself with a formal name such as William will undoubtedly make me seem rather pretentious upon first impression. I’m admittedly not that grand with American dialects and came here to relax, not act, so I have no intention of losing my native accent; therefore, introducing myself as Will seemed the next best thing.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffed. “Fine. When you put it that way, you earn a free pass. This time. Don’t try making a habit of talking your way into free passes though.”

A free pass. Hm. I would take what I could get that passed for not going backwards with her.

“Where are we going?” I had no idea where I was and merely followed her lead as we walked.

“Well, I thought I’d take you for a drive, show you the scenic back roads of this county, but I think we’ve been detoured.” She stopped in front of the bank’s cash machine. “I hope you have some card you can use to get cash, at least a few hundred dollars I’m guessing. You don’t look cheap.”

“What?”

Jamie simply shook her head as if I failed to understand basic English. “Unless you packed clothes of a variety that look a lot more casual and small town than what you’ve been wearing when I’ve seen you, then you may as well walk around introducing yourself as ‘Pretentious British William’ and not bother with the whole ‘Will’ thing. So I’m going to play the part of your girlfriend and dress you.”

“What?”

“Have we gone from ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘what’ as your thing?” The potential to step backwards again hid dangerously within those words. “Seriously. Stick a card in there, and get yourself some cash. You can’t use a card with your name on it unless you definitely want to blow your cover. Then we’re going shopping. I know plenty of women who pick out just about everything their boyfriends or husbands wear, so just pretend I’m your girlfriend, and you’ve given me control of your wardrobe choices.”

Amused by her proposal and incredibly curious how she would dress me if I were indeed her ‘boyfriend,’ I fed the cash machine a card and went about doing as she ordered. “Is five hundred enough?”

“It’s your money. I’m just spending it. Your call.” Her smile was enthralling. “Just remember, these aren’t going to be designer, high-end clothes. You may never wear them again once these three months are over.”

I withdrew five hundred and didn’t tell her such an amount meant pittance to me or that if she chose the clothing and they held fond memories, they might later be some of my favorite pieces regardless of their cost.


	14. Chapter 13

*Jamie*

 

 

“I’m well aware that thing is fuel efficient and all those lovely qualities, but unless you get a _real_ car, I’m driving.”

1967 Mustang GT500 versus 2014 Chevy Spark? Sorry. No contest. No. Not sorry. No contest. He had to be kidding.

“There’s noth—”

“Don’t even. Just don’t. If you say there’s nothing wrong with that car or call it a _real_ car while I’m driving this, Julie’s got a ’71 Dodge Challenger, and Trent’s Ram could literally drive over your little Spark, then you officially forfeit your man card  either for the duration of your stay or until you get a man’s car. My Mustang has more testosterone in one headlight than your entire car.”

“And it performs death-defying feats like taking ninety-degree turns at break-neck speeds as well,” he sassed back while white-knuckle gripping the seat.

It was ridiculous and adorable. Movie star? He was a fucking dork at times. And so cute when he was. So damn cute.

I got a little yelp from him when I popped the clutch and squalled tires from the intersection, making the turn into the shopping center. He’d get used to it.

“Walmart Supercenter?” No store name had ever held more suspicion of torture and suffering when spoken. “This is where we’re clothes shopping?”

“Just a few things. Redneck one-oh-one basics, William. Everybody around here buys at least some shit from Walmart. If you want to blend with the locals, then you need to appear native to their habitat.” Finding a good parking spot, not too close to any jackasses who would damage my car, I leaned over and rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly gaining his undivided attention. “Is this your first time in a Walmart?” He nodded. “Then this is more than simply shopping. This will be a life-altering experience.”

I doubt there had ever been a grown man enter a Walmart with such wide-eyed fascination, unable to take everything in all at once, attention darting around like a pinball in an arcade game. “Clothing, groceries, electronics, office supplies, toys … Is there anything this place does not have?”

Pushing the cart that unfortunately had a squeaky wheel, I walked a little faster to keep up with his damn long-legged stride. “Sushi. I’d kill for a place around here to buy decent sushi. But other than that, it does pretty much have everything you’d basically need or want, unless it’s totally out of the ordinary.”

“Might they have Earl Grey tea?” His excitement at the possibility was ridiculous. “Save ‘n Shop doesn’t.”

“Probably not whatever brand you’re used to, but yeah. I’m sure they’ve got it,” I answered, swerving the cart in that direction and tugging at his arm to keep him with me instead of wandering off.

“And a tea kettle? Could I buy one of those here as well?”

“You realize you’re acting like you’ve never shopped anywhere before, like you’ve lived under a rock or something.”

He shrugged his shoulders and innocently rocked his head side-to-side in a noncommittal way, mumbling something about ‘just having fun,’ but there was definitely more to it than that. West Winters was clearly not the be all end all of this man, no matter how attractive that sliver of him might be, though I happened to find the rest of him far more attractive.

But oh, the complication of choosing something as simple as tea with him.

“Which one should I purchase?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think this one is best?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

“Or perhaps this one. What do you think of this one?”

“I really don’t know. I don’t even drink Earl Grey.”

“Have you tried this brand? Would you recommend it?”

“I can’t say. I don’t actually drink hot tea at all.”

“You don’t drink tea?” From his expression, I’d apparently broken some law of physics in his world or something.

“No. That’s not what I said. I don’t drink _hot_ tea. I drink iced tea all the time. You just don’t listen.”

“I happen to be an excellent listener.”

“Fine. Then listen to this advice. If you drink so much goddamn tea, buy one of every fucking brand, and drink _all_ the tea until you figure out which is best.”

He did exactly that.

Thankfully, tea kettle decisions were easy. They had one type in stock, making the choice for him.

“Onward to men’s clothing, or we’re going to spend all day here and not get to shop anywhere else. Trust me. I do have better places than Walmart in mind to take you.”

Browsing the racks, William inspected everything with seemingly genuine curiosity. “What exactly are we looking for, Jamie?”

“Stuff that’ll help you fit in around town but will look good on you.” I picked up a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a thin, University of Kentucky blue, athletic shirt. It was light, soft, and perfect for the humidity. “What size are you?”

“Um… Most of my clothes are bespoke or purchased by my personal stylist. Max felt it was best that I have someone to take care of those things, ensure I’m up-to-date on the latest trends, and don’t wear the same clothing repeatedly. Apparently that’s frowned upon, though I’m not sure why.”

He moved awkwardly behind a display of hats as he talked, and I thought he was embarrassed about his confession. “Whatever. It doesn’t really matter. We’ll figure it out. Come here.” Standing directly in front of me much like he had the day before, again every inch of his height was impossible to ignore, the vee of skin exposed by the top button of his shirt undone sat right at my eye level, and never had a man’s neck seemed so entirely sexy. “Mhmm, yeah. Could you just hold this like that?” He obligingly held the t-shirt at his shoulders. “And I’ll just do a quick check to get an estimated fit.”

I pulled the side seams around his chest, seeing if they made the halfway point comfortably, which they did, but I could see clear as day the length wasn’t going to work. At least, not unless he wanted to reveal if he had a happy trail or smooth sailing every time he moved his arms. I giggled at the thought.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Nope. Not at all. But I think a medium is too small. We need to look for large shirts.” Taking the shirt away from him, I hung it back on the rack behind me, only to turn back and find his eyes searing into mine, brow arched.

“What of the shorts? Are you going to check them as well?”

Oh for the love of all things holy. His voice was deep, husky, growly, wrapping words in sex and doing explicitly sensual things to my ears. Men in Featherrock didn’t sound like that. Men in Kentucky didn’t sound like that. Fucking hell, men in America didn’t sound like that.

“Yeah. That. Check you out. I mean, the shorts, checking their size. You know, so we get the right ones.”

Luckily, I didn’t fumble the hangar and managed to get it off without giving away how flustered he’d just made me. Same basic procedure as the shirt, only checking the fit low on his waist, but unlike the shirt, I didn’t need his assistance, yet just as I got the test pair in place, his hands were on mine. His touch was gentle, holding me there, and I glanced up to see his face, serious, eyes intent, lips slightly parted.

“We’re a good fit, I think. Don’t you?” The growl wasn’t there when he spoke softer that way, but the deep huskiness of his tone remained.

But the question hung in the air between us, begging for an answer. _Are we a good fit?_ Who or what? Him and the shorts? Or _us_?

I decided to play it safe.

“Well, I really like these shorts. Maybe I’d go so far as to say they’re my type of shorts if, you know, I had a specific type of men’s shorts I liked best. You can dress them up, but they look great casual too. Of course, you can’t judge them by looks alone. It’s important to know if they’re made well. Can they endure a lot of wear? Are they easy care or a pain in the ass like dry clean only shit, you know? Oh, and can you mend them if you accidentally tear a hole in them, or are they just done for after that?” He hadn’t moved, expression hadn’t changed, but the hold on my hands seemed a bit stronger. “I don’t know what you’re personally looking for in a pair of shorts, but if we were shopping for me, I’d like to find my new favorite pair. Those ones you just keep forever and never get tired of wearing.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said so low his voice was sinful.

Exhaling slowly, I glanced down at his hands on mine. “Great. Then we’re good.”

“Are we still talking about shorts?” That. Voice.

I stood my ground and stared hard into his eyes. “I don’t know, William. Are we?”

 Something in the realm of determination tangled in fear covered his face, and he hesitated, doing that lip lick and bite thing he did whenever he seemed nervous that was so wrong and should be illegal. Men shouldn’t get to be all adorable and hot when they’re anxious.

Finally, the world-famous actor I would have thought had all the moves and too much ego with women glided his hand up my arm and over my shoulder, resting it on my upper back, and stepped a bit closer. “I’d rather hoped we were metaphorically speaking of something far more personal, Jamie.”

“And I believe we were, but if you kiss me in the middle of Walmart, not only will you lose about a thousand brownie points with me, I’ll possibly punch you in the face. That may be ranked among the top ten least romantic first kiss locations I can think of off the top of my head, with any location in Trent’s line of sight covering most of the other nine spots since it would be the precipitating factor in your immediate, and probably very painful, death.”

I was not smiling or really even kidding and was a tad surprised to see a hint of smile on his face. “Well, be that as it may, it seems we are indeed on the same page, and if, or rather, when the moment and place is right, and I do kiss you, I gather you will not react violently or even negatively toward such an action on my part.”

I laughed, draped the shorts over the side of the cart, and sorted through the hangars on the rack to find a large in the shirt I liked for him. “Maybe. Let’s see if we can get through shopping together and not get ahead of ourselves.”


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are always appreciated! Thank you to anyone reading and following along with this story. I don't typically put my original work out in its early stages this way, but I thought it would be fun to get reader input before taking this further and doing revisions/rewrites later for potential publication. :-)

*West*

 

 

“I swear. It never fails. One of my favorite songs comes on just as I pull into a parking lot damn near every time.” Jamie huffed as she shut off the engine, silencing the music. “You remember this one from _Night at the Roxbury_ , right? Hilarious. We’ve watched it so many times, we can do the dance from the end.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with it.”

The look I earned may be on par with that I gave her at the mere idea she would not drink tea. Clearly, missing that film was a high offense.

“Well, we have to remedy that, William. This calls for a movie night ASAP.” Her smile, the sparkle of excitement in her coppery brown eyes, I matched with my own, driven by the promise of more time spent together. “The bar’s closed Sunday nights. If you aren’t busy …”

“For you? Not too busy at all.”

Barely four days, and I wouldn’t deny I was entirely smitten with Jamie. Certainly, I wouldn’t claim anything as foolish as ‘love at first sight’ or some such rubbish, but I quite fancied her. A lot.

“Cool. It’s a date then. I’ll make popcorn.” And with that, she hopped out of the car, leaving me a tad stunned and in a hurry to catch up.

It was a date. We had a date. Jamie said so herself.

“This store seems more promising for a wardrobe we can agree upon,” I announced as soon as we entered Kohl’s. They didn’t sell groceries _and_ clothing, which I saw as a step in the right direction. Three shirts and two pairs of shorts from Walmart would not last three months.

“Oh, trust me.” Jamie smirked and winked. “I already expected that much, but I figured you hadn’t been to Walmart and really wanted you to experience it at least once.”

And somehow, that revelation did not surprise me in the least.

Within an hour, we had everything from shoes, socks, and belts to a wide assortment of trousers, shorts, and a variety of shirts, though mostly in shades of blues and greens she’d decided favored my eyes. Jamie operated on a ‘pick up what you like, try it on, then weed out what doesn’t fit to your taste’ method of shopping and kept reminding me I’d be ‘modeling’ everything for her.

“Who’s your favorite superhero? They’ve got some pretty cool graphic tees here.”

I picked a blue and white plaid button down I rather liked off the rack and turned to find her leaned over, searching through a display of t-shirts. The view was impossible not to admire given she still wore her office attire, and that dress fit her body impeccably.

“Um. I must say I haven’t given it much thought. None of my brothers were fans of comics, and I never gained an interest either, though I suppose Batman is alright.”

Jamie stood and slowly shook her head. “Wow. And here I really thought we had some potential, but DC over Marvel? I just don’t see how this can work out between us. Stan Lee always comes first.”

Marvel? DC? I didn’t even know which superheroes were which, but I took a stab at it again in hopes of a better reaction. “Captain America is a great superhero, too. You know, very … all-American and such a … hero.”

That was possibly the most inarticulate answer I’d ever given. However, she laughed and grabbed a shirt off the shelf behind her, tossing it at my face. “Perfect. Then you’ll love this one, and it would look good layered under that shirt you have there.”

“Yes. Perfect.”

She held another tee to her shoulders as if I should imagine her wearing it rather than me. “And this one’s a necessity. You’re definitely getting it.”

The Ford Mustang logo. “Oh, definitely.” And I’d think of her every time I wore it, riding alongside her as she drove too fast with her music too loud, a woman too full of life for one person that it overflowed, and entangled me quite willingly.

Walking over, Jamie stood so near I could smell the fresh apple scent of her hair once again, and I dropped our newfound items into the shopping cart as she lightly grazed her nails along my stomach. It was enticing and delightful, and I believed that to be my new favorite way to be touched, but only by Jamie.

“Now we need to find you just the right jeans, William.” She was at my side as if she may walk on past, but stood there, speaking, her breath on my arm. “Not like those black jeans you wore last night. The perfect classic blue jeans. There’s something very sexy about a man in a pair of great fitting jeans.”

It was daring and risky, but I reached my arm around her and pulled her in front of me. There was no resistance on her part and a grin on her lips.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my _girlfriend_ while she’s shopping to find all the clothes _she_ likes to see me wear, now would I?” I hoped she wouldn’t feel my heart jackrabbiting in my chest or realize how dry my lips were, how truly nervous I was with her right there that way despite the idea running through my head countless times during the previous few hours.

Leaning closer, she whispered, “You know, unlike Walmart, Kohl’s doesn’t make the top ten list.”

The open invitation.

And I took it. No matter that our only discernible means of privacy was a display of t-shirts, I took it because for once, there was no ‘handler’ telling me what I should or should not do in a public place, and kissing Jamie, that was what I wanted to do.

Jamie Lea Douglas had softer lips than I imagined and was less demanding, far more gentle than I expected, allowing me the lead I desperately desired. I poured my heart into every brush of my fingertips over her cheek and caressing kiss of her lips. Without words, I spoke to how genuine the feelings behind every smile, every look, every laugh, every word between us had been from the moment we met. In my breath, both held and uncaught, I revealed the way she captured my attention from that first moment. And gripping her waist to hold her close, I shared my fear she would find this lost boy, this man on puppet strings, lacking in her esteem.

With one last tender kiss to her lips, I rested my forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” She giggled quietly. “A world-famous actor extraordinaire kisses me, and he thanks me. Damn. I must be better than I thought.”

“That’s not what I meant, though you are quite wonderful.” I kissed her on the nose. “Thank you for giving me a chance, not assuming things about me or believing the many rumors I’m sure are out there. And for the record, West only kisses with scripts and directors. You don’t have the Hollywood version of me. What you have is real, not a production.”

“Good. But the real you doesn’t have a Hollywood stylist buying clothes and dressing you up, so we should get back to what we’re actually here for.” Before I could worry she’d pushed me away again, Jamie took my face in her hands and pressed her lips to mine briefly. “This, we can always do later. The shopping needs to get done now.”

“Then let’s check jeans off your list of appropriate clothes your boyfriend should own,” I teased.

We quickly discovered shopping for jeans when you’re quite tall and not of a large build was not the most simplest of tasks in your average department store. However, in the fourth section of jeans, luck shone down upon us.

“Found them.” Not only did Jamie appear entirely proud of that seemingly impossible accomplishment, but the sparkle in her eyes told me she may have very well found more than a simple pair of jeans.

“Should I be worried?”

“Nope. Not at all. Not worried at all.” She took the only two correctly sized pair and stuffed them in the cart under several other items before I could see them. “I can’t wait till you model those.”

That sounded like trouble, and with Jamie, trouble either became fun or landed me squarely three steps back from where I stood with her beforehand.

“Do you think perhaps we have enough for me to start doing just that yet?”

“I think we might.”

Oh, yes.

Thankfully, despite being a Friday afternoon, the Frankfort, Kentucky Kohl’s was quite empty short of a handful of customers, including us, and the employees. Max would surely have had a myocardial infarction at the mere idea of what I had on my mind, the insanity of it. But I didn’t care.

My ‘girlfriend’ wanted me to model for her, and I had every intention of doing so with panache. I would live in the moment with her. And I would live that moment to the fullest.

One last glance in the mirror, I thought I’d done a rather fine job without a stylist putting me together. But most importantly, I checked my iPhone, seeing the song was queued. A simple Google search for music from _Night at the Roxbury_ produced the results quite quickly to find the song I needed to download.

“Are you ready?” I called out.

“Ready and waiting. You take forever. I hope you aren’t always like this when you have to get ready to go places.”

Unless she’d moved, Jamie waited on a bench seat at the far end of the hall of fitting rooms from where I was, not that there were any other rooms taken, but to execute my plan properly, I need a length of runway.

I increased the volume on my phone to the maximum, pulled the door open, pressed play, and to the rhythm of “What Is Love,” I stepped out in full runway model diva fashion, though quite exaggerated and with far more of a dance flair than I believe a runway show would have allowed.

She was immediately laughing. Good laughing. Happy laughing. Laughing the way I wished to make her laugh.

Hopping, spinning, dancing, and sauntering up the faux runway, I made the most of modeling what clothes she’d chosen for me. We agreed the song must stay on repeat the entire time and that some of the things we loved on hangars were far less pleasing on me and that despite thinking my toes look strange in sandals, I should at least give them a chance for the summer.

The jeans were what I saved for the grand finale, paired with the Captain America tee, that plaid button down, and a pair of black Converse. But the jeans weren’t quite what I expected. There were buttons rather than a zipper, something I’d not encountered before; however, Jamie seemed to like them a great deal, so I went with it, and put together, the ensemble had the appeal I had hoped for.

That time when I opened the door and stepped out, I wasn’t silly about it. I owned my personal runway with same commanding presence Trent owned his bar top. Jamie’s attention was on me and nowhere else as she sat up straighter, lips parted, eyes devouring me from head to toe.

“Mmhmmm. Oh, yes. This one. This is my favorite. Turn around.” Her request was breathy yet still typically demanding of Jamie. Yet I complied, not too dignified to admit I liked _her_ admiring me from every angle. “Those are perfect, William.” I turned back, meeting her eyes, full of far more than approval. “There’s nothing quite like a man in a perfect pair of Levi’s five-oh-one button-fly jeans.”

“About those buttons—”

“They’re girlfriend approved, William. Trust me. You’ll agree there’s nothing quite like a pair of five-oh-ones when your girlfriend is ever-so-slowly unbuttoning them.”

My jaw dropped slightly, and I blinked as I collected my scattered thoughts. “Hm. Well, yes. I believe I can see where they might have a certain appeal.”

Jamie had given me a mental image I might not be able to remove from my mind, worsened by the fact that after our kiss, I didn’t believe the likelihood of it as a reality was completely and utterly impossible.

Those were definitively my new favorite item of clothing without doubt.


End file.
